Death Vision
by shadowed.phoenix
Summary: Seven colors, each so varied and disputed that their destiny was unsure. Struggles that began long ago to loves being forged, there is no doubt of one thing. The destiny of the wizarding world may rest in the hands of seven very different people.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Ginny Weasley. I don't any wizards, Diagon Alley, or whatever happens to throw itself into the story. Don't sue the most you can expect is a bag of Snickers and a Care Bear. 

_ ~*~_

_ Dear Ginny,_

_            I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be led like about like a daft puppet, I want to run my own life. Getting out of Hogwarts, I realized that I don't want to spend my life slaving over a relationship because of a girl with a crush. I can do better than you, Ginny. I would say I'm sorry, but truth is, I'm not. I should have ended this a year ago. Hell, I don't even know why I said yes in the first place; I must have pitied you. I never liked you Ginny, you're just Ron's little sister. I never appreciated your constant intrusions into my private life, so I'm going to end them now. I don't want to see you again. I certainly don't want to speak to you. Get out of my life Ginny, and don't come back. Ever._

_                                                                                    This is Goodbye,_

_                                                                                                Harry Potter_

Harry rolled up the parchment, placing his quill wearily aside. He called to Hedwig, attaching it to her leg before sending her off towards The Burrow; towards Ginny Weasley. He glared loathing at the constellation that loomed before him, mocking and taunting him. There was the Dog Star, Sirius. With a final sigh, The Boy Who Lived returned to his bed, content for perhaps the last time in his life. 

~*~

It'll get better, I promise!


	2. Chapter I: A First Glance

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own any of the characters. You can sue me if you want, but I'm currently in debt to my little sister 20$, so it would be pretty pointless. 

~*~

Harry Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, The Boy Who Lived, Conqueror of Voldemort, Destroyer of the Major Death Eater Society, and Third Auror of the Order of the Phoenix, was bored. He was sitting in the Ministry of Magic, attempting for the fifth time this week to get an assignment. Over the last four years, the four years since Harry had left Hogwarts, the amount of work for Aurors had shrunk into so little that they had given him a vacation. Voldemort had been killed by Harry on his 19th birthday, Lucius Malfoy had been captured and killed two years before, the majority of the Death Eaters were currently in Azkaban. This left Harry with a vacation. 

The problem was he didn't _want a vacation. He wanted to be chasing down Lestrange. Yes, that was what he wanted, he pondered. To chase down the woman who had murdered Sirius, the woman who had murdered Peter, the same woman who had murdered Lupin. Damn, wasn't it twisted, that she had murdered three of The Marauders. His father's three best friends, who in the end, had _all_ shown Gryffindor loyalty and courage; even Wormtail had, in that final battle. _

_Remus toppled to the ground shot down by a stunning spell. Lestrange smirked, pearly teeth gleaming through the haze of magic that rolled endlessly over Godric's Hollow. She laughed, a high, merciless laugh, nearly as cold and cruel as her master's. Stepping forward, her ebony robes billowing in the warm July wind, she directed her wand directly at Lupin's heart._

_"Crucio."_

_The pain was overwhelming. Its force was amazing; God she must have hated him to put so much force into the curse. Why not kill him off, please kill him off. Anything was better than this torture. Anything… He was struggling, struggling to keep from echoing the screams of other around him. He would be brave, he would not cry out. He was a Gryffindor. He…would not…cry out…Moony's lips parted to scream, the pain was too awful._

_There was a bellow from above; he knew that voice, didn't he…? "Finite Incantatem!" The pain halted, and Remus drew himself up, to look into the worried gaze of… Peter Pettigrew. _

_Another cry, a burst of light, and Peter fell, fell not only physically but emotionally. He tumbled headlong in to a pit of golden glow, he had redeemed himself. He was a **true Gryffindor. He was a ****true Marauder. And thus were Peter Pettigrew's final thoughts.**_

Harry jerked upright, having failed to notice that his head had fallen into his hands. This was why he didn't want time off; every time he took the shortest break he relived the deaths of those most loyal to him. Running a hand anxiously through his mess of raven locks, he frowned at the man strolling amiably down the hallway, like it was a _good day. Bastard. _

Thus was Harry's surprise when the man stopped before him, smiling and jubilant. "Mr. Potter, sir?" He asked. Why had he ever bothered to ask, Harry wondered. Who else had a lightning bolt scar on their forehead? Seriously, if these Ministry officials got any stupider they'd all end up in St. Mungo's.

Harry stood, nodding to the man, plastering a small smile over his own face. He knew it was convincing, for all it was forced. Anyone not incredibly close to he would ever see through the mask he had built up after that fateful summer. Besides, it was useful when he had to go undercover and didn't want people knowing what he was really thinking. "Yes, that's me; do you need me for something?" He tried to force the hope out of his voice, deflated as his expectations were, and was quite surprised when the man gave a blooming nod. Harry dropped all pretense of calm and eagerly grabbed the man's shoulder. Which was quite difficult, as he had to be seven feet, while Harry had never gone an inch over 5'11". "Where? What? When?"

The secretary's bright smile of joy seemed to reflect his attitude to being touched by the famous Harry Potter. "Right this way, Mr. Potter sir, right this way." Harry was faintly amused at the man's half-skipping step, but followed along as he led him through the maze of corridors in the new Ministry. The old one had been destroyed by Voldemort, to be replaced by an even more amazing work or architecture and interior design. They were currently strolling down a hall made completely of polished white marble, with gold inlays along the walls. This being hallway dedicated to the prevention of the Dark Arts, the pictures formed by golden spirals were those of historical scenes in which dark wizards had been defeated. The final one of the hallway always made Harry wince, as it depicted _him defeating Voldemort. Watching the golden display of the battle over and over again only brought back the terrible memories. So, tearing his eyes away from the wall, Harry instead looked up, through the glass ceiling. The entire building has a glass ceiling, reinforced with so many charms and hexes that it was impossible to penetrate. (Glass was a __very good conductor for chains of spells.) However, it was not the glass but the view that was amazing. Currently, an enormous white cloud was floating only inches above the roof. Harry was still unsure of whether he liked the Ministry better underground or suspended several hundred feet in the air._

So enraptured was he in studying the ceiling, that he ran right into his guide. Murmuring an apology, he leapt hastily back, though judging from the look on the man's face his dinner discussion that night would be something akin to, "And then the famous Harry Potter, you know, Conqueror of Voldemort and all that? Well, he _ran into me_. Isn't that amazing, Harry Potter running into _me!"_

Still grinning wildly, the man opened the door politely, looking unsure of whether or not he should bow or ask for an autograph. Harry made the decision for him. "Thank you," he said, before entering the room and quickly shutting the door.

"Not fond of your fans, Harry?" Mad-Eye Moody asked, grinning slyly.

Harry scowled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his midnight robes. "He said you needed me for something."

Made-Eye smirked, nodding towards the seat before him. "I _tried to give you a vacation. For heaven's sake boy, any other Auror would be more than delighted to take it. Instead I have you hammering down my door for a new assignment. What kind of attitude is that?"_

Potter slipped into the chair indicated, returning the smirk. "Why, the same one you have, sir."

Moody laughed a harsh, guttural laugh that was somehow grating and friendly at the same time. "Very well, Mr. Potter, you've got me there." Harry only smiled in reply, raising curious eyebrows, wanting to know exactly what this next task would be. Moody beckoned someone from the shadows of the room, and Harry's eyes widened.

He leapt hastily from the chair, enveloping his best friend in a tight hug. "Merlin, Hermione, I haven't seen you in ages." She returned his hug warmly, and Harry was shocked to find that once they drew back she had silvery tears coursing down her cheeks. His grin was immediately replaced by a concerned frown, and he reached a comforting arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, 'Mione?"

She shook her head, slipping out of his arm to sit in the second chair facing Moody's desk. "It's nothing, Harry. I'm just so glad to see you again. It brings back… memories."

He winced, needles viciously stabbing his heart. "Yeah… Yeah, I know. But we have to make the best of it." She nodded, slipping a tissue from her small black purse to wipe away the tears. Harry lowered himself back into his own chair, casting a curious glance at them both. "So… What exactly is this about?"

Moody spoke, giving Hermione a reassuring smile before turning to Harry. "Miss Granger and I have discussing current places and people that still defense. We were hoping you would…"

He was cut off by Harry's abrupt comment. "I don't want to baby-sit, Mad-Eye, I want to hunt for Lestrange." He felt, rather than saw, Hermione flinch.

Moody's eye roved towards the ceiling, as if asking for help from higher forces, while his regular eye remained trained on Harry. "Let me finish, boy. Like I said, we were hoping you'd undertake a position as a sort of bodyguard. We have a young woman in need of protection," he silenced Harry's open mouth with a quick spell. "Don't speak. Don't even try. Now, as I was saying, we need you to act as a sort of bodyguard for her, inconspicuously of course. This _will not_ be a Hogwarts picnic, Harry. It's very likely that Lestrange's followers will attack her. It's also likely that she will not appreciate our thrusting an Auror on her in the least. That's why we can't have some older chap trailing her; he'd have no reason to. We would use Mr. Longbottom, but I don't think he could handle this assignment himself. Ms. Lovegood was also a possibility, but she has informed that she is already friends with the woman, and that she knows that Ms. Lovegood has no intention of giving up on being an Auror. You will be pretending that you've given up this life, because you're tired of being only noted to your talents in the Dark Arts field or something equally reasonable, and that you've decided to make a new beginning. Don't glare at me, Harry; I'm sure the profession I'm having you undertake will be one you enjoy. You see, Potter, Britain's quidditch team recently lost its seeker."

"Alright, I understand all that; and I don't mind playing seeker for a bit again. But who _is_ this girl." Harry spoke, his smile rather coy.

Moody's lips twitched, clearly hiding a smile. "I forgot you could do wandless magic, foolish of me."

"Yes, it was." Harry commented dryly, before returning to the subject. "The girl, Mad-Eye."

"Ginny Weasley."

Harry gripped the desk suddenly, knuckles white as his face grew several shades paler. "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, I can't do that, Moody."

"You have to, Harry." That was Hermione. Harry turned towards her, looking pleadingly at the determined expression on her face. He shook his head, unable to form the words. Hermione took no notice, her soft voice etched with barely controlled pain. "Mr. Weasley's Minister now and that sets his children up as prime targets. Charlie can look out for himself, Percy almost never leaves the ministry, Fred and George have so many 'funny' booby traps on they're home that they'll be just fine, but Ginny's a whole different story. She's only been out of Hogwarts for three years, _Neville only took three minutes to break into her apartment, and she's so empathetic that if Bellatrix walked up to her and confessed to wanting to change, Ginny would _believe_ her."_

"Hermione I can't do that. You don't understand. I swore off ever _glimpsing_ her again after seventh year. You want me to trail her, and watch her day and night? I can't do that."

"Potter." Harry turned towards his superior, still an ashy grey. "I don't think you understand exactly what we want, Potter. We don't need to only see her, we need to speak with her, befriend her; the whole deal."

"That won't work, Moody."

"If it doesn't, then you're off Lestrange." Harry went from ashy to ghost white, though Mad-Eye could tell the threat was one he would remember. Hermione made a small, inquiring noise, and his head gave the tiniest of shakes. He was not going to tell Potter everything, some information could be held back until the boy could handle it.

"Fine. I'll do it." Harry said soft resolve in his voice.

"Good, you start today. Get out and find her, she's living in Erised Alley."

~*~

Notes: Um, well, this is the longest chapter I've ever written. I don't know that I really like it, but it's okay for the first real chapter of my first Harry Potter fanfic. Opinions, everyone? Questions? Ask or comment by clicking the little "Go" button in the bottom of your screen.


	3. Chapter II: The Beauty of Failure

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Darn. Oh well, at least I can toy with a bit. I like doing that! 

Phantom: Hahaha, now you can't steal my chocolate! I ate it all and I'm updating! So there! Hope you have fun climbing all those evil stairs. *Shudder* And… Well… Never mind, I'm not going to comment to the rest 'cause you have to wait and see!

~*~

Harry sighed bitterly as he strolled down Diagon Alley. Blasted Mad-Eye, he would get him back for this somehow. He was silently praying that Moody wasn't serious about taking him off Lestrange, because Harry doubted that Ginny would ever be willing to 'befriend' him. He would be lucky if she so much as _looked_ at him. On top of that, the paper currently tucked into the pocket of his deep green robe was his Quidditch schedule. Starting in a week, Harry would have daily practices with the Cannons, and he hadn't played a game of Quidditch in nearly two years. Of course, the Cannons were currently losing so terribly that having Harry would hardly make a difference, so he wouldn't be disappointing anyone. He knew the captain had only agreed because having The Boy Who Lived on their team would attract fans.

The Boy Who Lived. What an incredibly stupid name to call him by. Technically, he was The Boy Who Lived Seven Times. Maybe it was too long to include in their gossip trains. Of course, that didn't do any good for his friends. Had they all forgotten Remus Lupin? Had they forgotten Nymphadora Tonks? Had they forgotten _Albus Dumbledore_? It was outrageous, the way people could somehow skip over all the deaths that shouldn't have been honored; to the point where it almost seemed like he had single-handedly defeated Voldemort and his cronies. Ludicrous.

Harry's thoughts came to a sudden halt when he reached a second alley. The sign above was wrought gold, the letters an elegantly vibrant violet. Its words were simple, but proudly declared; Erised Alley. He turned down the street, the next onslaught of memories flooding him unauthorized. He had seen the Mirror of Erised in his first year; the mirror that showed you exactly what the deepest desires of your heart wanted most. Harry suspected that if he looked in it today, it would show him strangling Alastor for giving him this stupid assignment. 

The image was amusing.

However, Harry's humorous attitude faded when he found himself standing before an enormous fountain. It was fool's gold, he could tell that after a brief survey. All the same, the warm glow of just past noon made it glitter with a vibrant fire. It was a beautiful piece, its center a unicorn proudly splaying water from its horn; all things pure. The base was covered in knuts, with a few sickles, though not many. Erised Alley was nice, but it wasn't for those with large sums of money. 

Now, however, he faced another challenge. _Finding Ginny. What to do after that, he had no idea, but things could be taken one step at a time. This would have been much easier if he wasn't Harry Potter, and already acquiring gawking fans. Of course, there were ways to deal with that. Sliding back into the shadows, he drew his father's invisibility cloak from a large pocket hidden in the inner folds of his robe. Slipping it over him, he was satisfied with invisibility. If only he could be like this all the time._

Next order of business, Moody had said that Ginny's usually ate lunch around one, fifteen minutes. He leaned against the wall, searching for any glimpse of red. A woman's crimson scarf fluttered in the breeze, a man's scarlet robes hung loosely around his form, a student home for the summer holidays was displaying the muggle trick of juggling with apples to his friends, a shock of fiery hair. There, he had her. He stood, drawing off the cloak before slipping into the crowd. Maneuvering himself to conveniently 'run into' Ginny was a well practiced art, actually make himself do it was much more difficult.

Step by careful step, he strolled towards her, face towards the cobblestone beneath his feet. Three, two, one… "Oof!" Was the cry of his unsuspecting prey. However, he hadn't expected her to fall so hard that she toppled onto the ground at his feet. Therefore he was quite surprised to find himself gazing down in to a pair of chocolate brown orbs, and he knew his shocked expression was far better than any mask of one might have been.

Ginny was _beautiful_. He remembered thinking she was pretty enough at Hogwarts, but right now she was downright gorgeous. Fiery locks splayed over her face, tendrils of gold coursing through the shoulder length waves. Faded freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, their appearance adding glamour instead of the 'cute' expression they had formerly given off. She was dressed in simple, deep ruby robes, but they only further brought out her eyes; lovely, warm, friendly eyes.

Until she realized who was staring at her. "You!" Her cry was forcefully angry, and he fought to keep himself from jumping.

"_Ginny?_" His tone was convincing, it even managed to crack. Now wait, that wasn't right, he _never acted this well…_

"What are _you_ doing here?" She demanded crossly, still glaring up at him.

"Apparently, running into you," he replied dryly, offering a hand to help her to her feet. She ignored it. He had to force himself from grinning. That was the Weasley pride, all right. Weasleys…

_Bill Weasley charged headlong into the fray, trailing his younger brother. "Ronald Weasley, get back here! Mum ordered you out of the fight!"_

_"No!" Bill cursed softly, how had he gotten such **stubborn** brothers? Well, he could certainly be stubborn too. Dashing up behind the other red head, he snatched the boy's wand from his hand. _

_"Get out Ron; we have plenty of fully trained wizards to handle this!" _

_"I'm not fully trained?! I've helped Harry plenty of times; I'm going to do it again! Give. __Me.__ My. Wand!"_

_Bill shook his head, pocketing it. "No, Ron." With that, he dashed towards Godric's Hollow, the sounds of battle meeting his ears. The screams of anguish that tore through the air were awful, and every step forward he took was forced. He almost wished he could turn around and go back to Ron…_

_No, he was a fully grown wizard. Four of his brothers were in the battle; one was in St. Mungo's. He had to protect Ron, and he had to protect Ginny. A sudden hand on his pocket, he turned, to find Ron triumphantly holding his wand. "No, Ron, don't…"_

_But his brother was already running, running towards…_

_A movement in the shadows, the raising of a wand… "Expelliarmus!" He cried, grinning in proud delight as the wand dropped from his opponent's fingers, Bill had protected his brother. But Ron was shouting something, his expression frightened. Bill turned, bravely clasping his wand…Only to meet an onslaught of fire, a final end. But he had protected his brother…Ron was safe…_

Harry found himself jerked out of the vision by a hand rapidly shaking his shoulder. "Potter, snap out of it!" Ginny cried fiercely, seconds before he opened his eyes. Ginny had never called him Potter before. Before he had written the letter, his mind chided him. 

Once his swimming eyes could focus, he found himself meeting pools the color of Honeyduke's finest. That didn't make any sense either, he was taller than Ginny, and he shouldn't have been looking eye to eye with her. "Where am I?" He asked groggily, unsatisfied by Ginny's scowl.

"You're kneeling in the center of Erised Alley, prat." She hissed violently, dragging herself back to her feet.

"Oh," was the most Harry could make out, climbing into a standing position. "How did I get there?"

"I don't know. You got a blank look in your eyes and muttered something about Bill, and then you just… fell." She didn't seem at all concerned, Harry noted. Damn, he almost hoped she was; that would make it easier for him to ask her to lunch.

He shuffled his feet uncertainly, and she shoved past him. He was glad to see her go… Wait! No he wasn't! He had to stay on Lestrange! Spinning, he called out, "Ginny!" She turned, only to glower at him. Giving an embarrassed cough, he asked softly, as if he was frightened --which, he was-- before asking. "Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

She stared at him incredulously, before crying. "The _nerve of some people! Just because they're heroes, they can forget ever rotten word they ever said to a person! I thought you never wanted to see me again, Mr. Potter!"_

He blinked, meeting her eyes squarely before speaking softly. "Er, could you try to keep your voice down? Shouting Mr. Potter at the top of your lungs brings in attention I don't exactly want. And… Well, I guess I changed my mind." He lied quickly, wincing as he realized the reaction this would bring.

Ginny opened her mouth to yell, only to see him flinch before she began. She had apparently forgotten how well he knew her, four years apart or no. Instead, she lowered her voice to a whisper, struggling to keep it calm. "Well, why don't you go off and find someone_ better. You seemed positive that you could four years ago."_

_Why _had Moody given him this rotten assignment? What's more, why had Hermione agreed? She knew things were terrible between him and the youngest Weasley, even if she didn't know how terrible. Plowing forward, he tried again. "Ginny, please, it's just lunch. Ron would…" The force of her open palm on his cheek was powerful, he found himself wishing she was an Auror, with that kind of strength. 

"Don't you _dare_ mention my brother to me." She hissed, rage etched in every line of her face. He took a hurried step back, intimidated by her expression. He shouldn't have worried; she was already turning to storm down the street.

Attempt Number One: Failed. Beautifully.

~*~

So… Whatcha think? Are they in or out of character? Do you like or no? Any opinions on how many tries before they manage to make reasonable conversation? (Lol) I like constructive criticism, so please give me some! (Of course, praise is welcome too! ~_^) Review, and make my day!


	4. Chapter III: Befuddling Memoir

Disclaimer: Don't own Potter, Weasley, Granger, Hogwarts, or anything. However, I _do_ own Erised Alley! Go me! (Though I don't own Erised. Oh well, too bad.)

~*~

Ginny Weasley was beyond furious. She stormed down Erised Alley, not bothering to look at the figure she knew would be watching her retreating back. Harry Potter, the man who had killed Voldemort when he was barely a month out of his seventh year at Hogwarts. Barely a month since he'd sent that bloody letter. She could remember, quite clearly, that night.

_Ginny lay on her bed, potions book before her as she checked the facts already scrawled for her four foot essay on the Polyjuice Potion. She knew why Snape had chosen this particular assignment; polyjuice had become a common way for Death Eaters to disguise themselves. Still, it was terribly complicated. She was tempted to write Harry and see if he knew anything about it._

_Just thinking about Harry made her smile. They had been together for just over a year, and she believed it was the best year of her life. She had been surprised when he had agreed, on the train home when she was her fifth year. After a year of month long relationships, Ginny had finally returned to the man she loved. And he had said yes. It was the start of joy, as she saw it. A whole year of walks around the lake, late nights in the common room, and trips to Hogsmeade, (both permitted and not). Of course, danger had also laced their time together. There were constant moments when Harry would suddenly stop and stare into thin air, or times when he would grab her hand and begin a mad dash to the castle. But it had been wonderful, all the same. She wished she could speak with him now._

_As if obedient to her thoughts, a sudden tap on the window alerted her to an owl's presence. She grinned in recognition at Hedwig, rolling off the bed to go open the window. Her thoughts drifted as she detached the letter from the snowy bird's leg, wondering what he would say this time. She strolled to her bed, sitting down to run her finger gently over the single word printed on the outer fold, Ginny. Eagerly, she unrolled it, delighted at his familiar, messy handwriting. It wasn't until she read the words that her face fell._

_Even as she read it, she could hardly believe it. This wasn't the Harry she knew, surely there had been a mistake! Yet, in the pit of her stomach, she knew it wasn't. That was Harry's signature, his words, his…disposal of her. At once, the tears began to fall. Waterfalls of shiny droplets seeping from her eyes, she threw the letter aside, burying her face in a pillow._

_"No… No…Please, no…" It was if a part of her had died, leaving a hollow feeling in her heart. Why had he done this? And why had he done it so cruelly? Didn't he have the least care for her feelings? For her tears?_

_Ginny sobbed recklessly into the pillow until she had no more tears to cry. Sitting up, she glanced at the letter now discarded on the floor. Discarded like **her. Anger suddenly grew within her, boiling her veins. Harry didn't want to ever see her again? Fine. She could live with that, the letter would serve as her vow. She was not going to be sad over… over **Potter**. She was going to continue her own life, and find her own someone better. That would show him, the arrogant bastard that he was.**_

The memory suddenly changed her wrath to humor. She had shown him, hadn't she? She had walked away from Potter, and was still doing it. She hadn't given in just because of who he was, or even because those adorable green eyes had been staring at her. No, they weren't adorable anymore; now they were intense, like a blast of emerald fire piercing the enemy. A smile grew brilliantly over her face, she loved those eyes…

Her steps halted automatically, shocked and peeved by her last line of thought. She certainly did not love those eyes; she didn't love any part of Har-- Potter. That was final. She must have been reminiscing, nothing more. Merely remembering how she _used_ to love them. To love him…

She gave a frustrated cry, ordering her brain to give up the subject of Potter. She instead decided to focus on a choice of lunch. Weasleys were not always rich, simply because they always preferred to follow a career path that they enjoyed, paths that rarely were ones with a large paycheck. Her father was currently Minister, that was true; but he had only taken the position until someone better could be found. McGonagall had been the first option, but she had refused point blank, deciding instead to step into Dumbledore's shoes as Headmistress of Hogwarts. The other candidates had been similarly stubborn, until her father had reluctantly agreed-- With the promise that he could have a new flying car.

Her brother's had their own lines of work. Charlie was still working with dragons in Romania, and Fred and George were operating the largest joke shop in the wizarding world. Percy was Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Bill had been killed in the Hollow Battle, and Ron… But she didn't want to think about that. 

Instead, she refocused on lunch. Deciding that after the afternoon encounter she simply wanted to go somewhere nearby and relaxed, she headed in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. The walk there was packed with witches and wizards, though not as many as she remembered from her school days. So many had been killed in Voldemort's final year of power, and in the year after where Lucius Malfoy continued to terrorize the world. Still, the sight of young students-to-be dashing eagerly from shop to shop made her grin, and the burst of conversation that drifted to her ears reflected upon the peace that now reigned.

She halted before a particular shop, her grin growing rapidly; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. That was what she need, a chat with her brothers to forget about _him_. She pushed open the crimson door, delighted with the display of fireworks that suddenly danced over her head, these ones being tiny gold lions who squealed the word Gryffindor before bursting into crimson sprinkles of light. "A Gryffindor customer! Excellent!" A voice boomed from the back room, moments before George appeared. 

She nearly laughed at his attire. Fred was dressed in shimmering golden robes, the multiple lions that covered it roaring their approval. His red hair was held back in the ponytail Bill had formerly worn, and the freckles on his face were somehow enchanted to spell out Gryffindor. 

"Getting into the school spirit, are we?" She asked, teasing him with a humored smile.

"Well, there's only a week until September! We just wanted to advertise for the best house of the lot!"

"Yes, we're even offering everything half off to Gryffindor students. Mind you, the Slytherins definitely dropped their business, but we don't want that slimy lot in here anyway." George told her, approaching. He was dressed in robes identical to his twin's, but his freckles were in place and his hair was cropped short. He enveloped her in a hug, grinning wildly. "Merlin, Gin, we haven't seen you in _ages_!"

She returned the hug, giggling. "That's because every time I come in here I end up with a new haircut!" 

Her brothers laughed, George winking heartily. "So, what made you brave the danger this time?"

She scowled, suddenly remembering, "An idiot who decided to ruin my day."

 "Which one? We'd be delighted to stick a Ton-Tongue toffee in his bag. That'd set him straight." Fred joked, though Ginny had no doubt that he would do it if she asked.

"Harry Potter."

Both of them blinked, and it was George who interrupted the awkward silence. "Blimey, you haven't seen him in what--Four years?"

"I was beginning to hope I would never see him again." She replied sourly, still scowling. 

"He was here a few days ago, muttering something about hating vacations. He bought loads of Gryffindor stuff; I don't know what he'll do with it all. Of course, he also dragged in about twenty extra customers because of who he is, good for business, and not so bad a chap. Why d'you hate him anyway, Gin? Not still holding that grudge for him breaking up with you, are you?" George asked, a frown replacing his smile.

She glared, her voice breaking into a roar that would equal the lions on their robes. Her temper was, unmistakably, as short as a rampaging hippogriff's. "Why are you taking _his_ side?! You have no _idea_ what he put me through! Just leave me _alone_!" With that, she stormed out of yet another conversation, leaving two baffled brothers behind.

Her fury was short lived, as it had calmed by the time she reached The Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't her brothers' fault that they didn't know how horrible He was; she had never chosen to show them that awful letter. She entered the pub, finding a small table in the corner where she ordered her lunch.

Halfway through the meal, a shadow fell across her plate, causing her to look up. Her eye's met green ones that she had seen far too much of within the last hour. "I though I told you to go away!" She snapped fiercely as Harry slid into the chair across from her. He wore a slight frown, and she couldn't help but notice the shadows in his gaze. 

"Please, Ginny. I know what I said in that letter was awful, but that was for years ago. It's different now, _I'm different now. The letter's gone; can't the past be gone too?" The look in his eyes, so miserably pleading, was one that tore savagely at her heart. However, she had an answer to his question._

Rummaging in the pocket of her robe, she pulled forth a slip of battered parchment, the only word visible her name. "No." She hissed, standing to wander out of the pub, now into Diagon Alley, but into the muggle world.

~*~

I love this story, and I don't know why. Lol, oh well, too bad for me. I think Ginny's pov is easier to write in, though I don't know if it's better or not. What say you, Harry or Ginny? Review, please! Tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter IV: To Tame the Fire

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I hope you know that, because unless you think that I'm JKR in disguise, it really doesn't make sense for me to own anything.

Notes: This chapter is basically a bridge chapter. Next chapter will be extremely important, so don't give up on me because I had to make a boring in-between chapter! :-P

~*~

Harry sat staring at the letter in silence, completely dumbfounded. Tentatively, his hand reached out to lift it delicately. The parchment unrolled as if it had been read over too many occasions. He winced at the thought, wondering how many times Ginny _had_ read it. It took several moments before his eyes focused on the words enough to make the fading ink clear. He read the letter, remorse enveloping him as he sat alone in The Leaky Cauldron. His fingers traced the words with a gentleness they hadn't held for years, before one thought fought its way to the surface.

Why had Ginny kept it over all these years?

It was a difficult question, and as he rolled it over his mind, he found no answers. The best way, the _only way he would know would be to ask Ginny, but she was already gone. Snatching up his letter suddenly and leaping to his feet, Harry charged out of the pub, concern snapping his brows together. She couldn't go running around the muggle world alone, that was why he was supposed to be protecting her! Fat lot of good he'd done, drudging up the past._

Halting on the sidewalk outside, he scanned the crowds worriedly. When she could not be found, he groaned softly. For all he knew, Ginny had just apparated in Hogsmeade. Stepping back towards The Leaky Cauldron, he suddenly realized just how stupid he was acting. All he needed was something of Ginny's to track her, and he had that.

Drawing out the letter, he tapped his wand lightly to it. "Tracetus," he whispered, grinning as golden footprints appeared along the sidewalk. He found himself delighted with the Auror training; there were so many useful tricks. He strolled after her; ignoring the few stares that came his way because of the ebony robes that draped around his lean form. 

Picking up into a light jog, his grin spread as the footsteps steadily grew brighter, the sign that they were fresher than those of a faded gold. It wasn't more than ten minutes until a flash of red alerted him to Ginny's presence, and he automatically cut off the street to catch up to her. It appeared that she still hadn't noticed him, most likely because her head was ducked towards the cement beneath her worn tennis shoes. Hesitant once more, he rested a hand on her crimson clad shoulder.

She spun hurriedly, drawing her wand as she did so and ending up with it directly against his chest. "Oh," her voice was disdainful. "It's you… _Again_. Don't you know the meaning of 'no'?"

One hand raised to pluck her wand from her fingers before she too notice, which only caused her to suddenly cross her arms and give him a furious glare. He sighed, tucking it into the pocket of his robe. "Why the hell did you keep it?" He asked, his tone one that demanded no arguments.

However, Ginny wasn't about to obey _his demands. "What does it matter to __you?" She would have walked away, but not when her wand was in his pocket._

Harry sighed bitterly, fingering his own wand apprehensively. "It matters a lot to me. I never meant for you to carry it around till the end of your days, I just wanted you to toss it into the fire and forget about me."

She gaped at him, chocolate lamps revealing just how flustered this conversation was making her. "You expected me to just throw away the best year of my life, and… and forget about it? Just how mad are you?"

The best year of her life? How could that possibly be when half of it had been spent with him always dashing away for fear of Voldemort? If _that_ had been her best year… well, Harry didn't want to think about how awful all the other nineteen had been. He ran a hand through his hair, a subconscious habit passed down from his father. "Ginny, really, you have to understand; I didn't know what was going to happen…" He trailed off, his eyes pleading.

But Ginny was not going to hear any of it. "Give. Me. My. Wand!"

It was like a tornado suddenly hit Harry. His face paled incredibly, half stumbling to lean against a nearby building, burying his head in his hands. He was muttering jibberish, trembling ever so slightly, what with his last vision of Bill and Ron. It was all his fault, what had happened to Ron. There was nothing he could do, and it was all his fault. He hadn't been good enough…

He found himself shaken out of his reverie by Ginny, her firm grip on his shoulders dragging him back to the present. "Harry, Harry, are you alright? Harry?"

He took a deep breath, blinking slowly to bring the world back into focus, like adjusting the lens of a pair on omnoculars. Freckles danced before him, so close he felt his breath catch in his chest as her face came into view. He found himself thinking, for the second time that day, that Ginny was absolutely gorgeous.

He was disappointed when she drew away from him, as if he were a hot brick. "What's wrong with you?" She asked crossly.

"I'm sure you could answer that one for me."

Ginny looked like she was struggling to hold back a laugh, and the corners of her lips were twitching slowly upwards. "What are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be off chasing Lestrange?"

He was surprised that she knew they were still hunting Bellatrix, until he remembered that her closest friends were Luna and Neville. Longbottom was just as dedicated to hunting Lestrange as he was, after what she did to his parents. "Naw, I'm leaving that to Neville. Things are more than settled, they don't need me."

She arched an eyebrow, surprised by this casualty with which he declared his statement. "Well, what are you up to then? Lazing about, seein' as how you're one of the few people who has enough gold to do so?"

He frowned and shook his head, subconsciously slipping a hand in his robes to touch the schedule. "No, I'm not. I'm playing seeker for the Cannons, at least until Dave Johann comes back." The astonishment she felt was clear, he would have bet fifty galleons that she thought he had been lying about quitting his work. At least this temporary job was good for something, she seemed convinced.

"Oh," Ginny said softly, glancing down the street. "Well, I'm off." She turned to go, but Harry reached out swiftly and caught her arm.

"I still have your wand." He pointed out, with something of a smug look on his face. Ginny's hand dropped to her pocket, suddenly remembering.

"Why, you-!" She lunged towards him, but reflexes sent him leaping back, before he turned and began to trot towards Diagon Alley swiftly. Ginny followed just as he had hoped, but it soon became evident that he would need more than a jog to keep ahead. Switching to a light run, Harry maneuvered between the crowds, grinning cheerfully as he kept Ginny a constant ten paces behind him. The look on her face was murderous, but it was for her own good. Wandering around the muggle world wasn't the safest thing to do.

The run back was far shorter than his tracking of Ginny had been, and he soon found himself in the miniature space behind The Leaky Cauldron. She followed, crimson locks now thoroughly mussed from her dash after him, coffee eyes snapping in ruthless fury.

"You infuriating prat, give it back to me!" Ginny cried, and Harry found himself feeling just a tad bit guilty.

"Well that's not a nice way to go about it." He told her, lifting it from his pocket and twirling it idly between his fingers. Suddenly, he found himself reminded of the time in his second year when Tom Riddle had towered before him, twirling _his_ wand. It had not been comforting, to find an enemy holding your best defense weapon. Putting Ginny in the same situation seemed rather cold. "I'll give it back to you… On one condition."

Ginny eyed him suspiciously, crossing her arms. "And what might that condition be?"

"You have dinner with me tonight; I'll come get you at seven."

"You don't know where I live," she declared.

"Seventy-three Golden View apartments, Erised Alley," he listed rapidly; having had it drilled constantly into his mind that morning.

Her eyebrows drew crossly together, and she scowled. "Why are you keeping tabs on me?"

He hated acting, Moody rarely had him do it; lying was similar enough to cause him to pause for just a few seconds too long. "Er… Fred and George told me."

Bow eyes narrowed at his answer, clearly disbelieving. "Fine, you know where I live. What would it be, anyway? Because 'm not dating you."

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "It will be an informative meeting."

"Informative meeting? Does that mean you're going to tell my why the hell you wrote that letter?"

"Only if you tell me why you kept it," Harry declared, holding her wand out. She gripped it, but he didn't let go. "Promise me, Ginny."

"Fine, I promise to come to your informative meeting, Potter." With that, she yanked her wand out of his hand, tapped the correct brick, and stalked back into Diagon Alley.

Now Harry only needed a decent excuse as to why he wrote the letter.

~*~

Hermione strolled down the hallway in the Ministry of Magic, her steps revealing perfect calm. Inside, however, she was in turmoil. This place always gave her the creeps. The walls were washed perfectly white, and the entrances into each room were merely openings in the wall, there being no need to cage this people. She stopped at the final gap, smoothing her sapphire blue robes hesitantly. It had been a long time she had entered this room, for the hurt and pain it brought was almost intolerable.

She entered slowly, her eyes resting on the figure in the corner. He stood, perfectly straight, staring vacantly forward. The robes he wore were a dull black, contrasting his vibrantly red hair. The figure didn't even glance towards her as she stepped a few paces closer.

"Hullo Ron," Hermione whispered.

~*~

There, Ron's not dead. I hope you're all happy! I wanted to have him dead, but instead I found a use for him! It's even a use that's going to explain all sorts of stuff! Lol, I'll include more later. That just seemed like a good place to stop. Review, please!!!!


	6. Chapter V: Painful Kiss

Disclaimer: I don't own it. You know that already, but the rules save I have to put it up anyway. Oh well, maybe the information will reach a different one of your multiple personalities; who knows.

Notes: This is going to be an odd chapter, I'll warn you before hand. Lots of info, and yet no info at all. Well, have fun reading it!

~*~

Ron continued to stare blankly at the wall, and as always, Hermione soon grew uncomfortable. She had no idea why she even bothered to come anymore, except that it seemed traitorous to leave him alone and without comfort. Besides, Ron received no other company. Mrs. Weasley had banned her family from visiting them after going into hysterics; and Hermione had banned Harry from visiting after he had sunk into complete depression during his other visits. However, she continued to attend, because she was the only one who hold her sanity and accomplish the feat of being with him in one time period. 

Sighing softly, she spoke once more. "We're getting farther, Moody and I. Don't worry; we'll cure you, eventually. There has to be way." The determination in her voice was meager, but she continued on, despite the fact that Ron was still oblivious to her speech. "We have the first line, even. It ended up being an ancient version of Glindorang, which is what the old goblins used to speak, a few thousand years ago--Before Cleopatra wiped the majority from the earth after one magicked her cat. Never mind the history though; the important thing is that it's translated. It says 'One of closest blood'; so we've have Harry marking Ginny. Mind you, we had to threaten him, but he's doing it. I do hope that they sort themselves out; I still don't understand what happened to begin with. They were such strange times..." Her voice drifted, letting the words hang as moments stretched into infinity. "Well, I'll tell you when we find out something new, I promise. I just hope that the next line comes quicker than the last, spending two years over a legendarily unexplainable cure is difficult. It's worth it though; it will be when we have you back."

Tear trickled slowly from her eyes, and her hand rose to swiftly brush them away before she hurried out of the room and back down the eerily light hallway. Hermione thrust through the door, her heart wrenching as the name echoed after her swift steps. "Thank you for visiting The Department for Incurable Maladies: Kiss Division."

~*~

Ginny strode down Erised Alley shortly after departing from Harry, deep in thought. Her head was bent towards the cobblestone street beneath her feet, unaware of the world around her. It was for this reason, perhaps, that she leapt nearly six inches into the air when a part of well muscled arms wrapped idly around her waist. "Calm down," a soft voice commanded in her ear. "It's only me."

She twisted her head to gaze upwards, meeting a cool, silver gaze. "That's supposed to calm me down, Malfoy? I though I told you to sod off."

He smirked; the Malfoy charmer characteristic. It was a smirk that would melt iron, but Ginny Weasley was a fire unmatched, and there was no weakening of the knees over Draco's looks. Ice blond tendrils cascaded lightly over his argent eyes, having ditched his slicked back look after disowning his father and picking up new habits. He was tall; somewhere around six and a half feet, with a muscular build and the silver robes draping over his form were the best money could buy. Ginny could spot a number of women already throwing jealously cold looks her way.

"You wound me, dear Ginny. Don't I get a second chance?" His voice was tantalizing, dripping in smooth ice and yet somehow burning a blazing passion.

"No, you don't. Now let me go." She struggled in his arms, but powerful as he was, Draco was not about to budge.

He leaned down, just enough to whisper in her ear. "C'mon Ginny, you're giving our amazing hero-boy a second chance, aren't you? You didn't tell Potter to go away."

She stiffened, was Malfoy spying on her? Stupid git, she wouldn't stand for that. "Eat bubotuber pus, Malfoy." (A/N-That one's for you, phantom!)

He chuckled softly, his lips still near her ear. "Don't worry, Miss Weasley. I'm not spying on you, just keeping tabs on our precious Potter."

"Oh, and since when has Potter been yours?" She smiled, arm creeping slowly down between his arms and to her pocket.

"Your quick wit and sarcasm continue to amaze me. Don't turn me down again, its truly heartbreaking."

She slid her arm the final distance, snatching up her wand and drawing it roughly out, while throwing her weight against his arms. He broke away, and Ginny spun to face him, wand pointed towards his chest. "I told you to sod off. Blimey, how thick can you get?"

He stepped back, hands raised in defeat. "Fine, fine, whatever you wish. But don't I say I didn't warn you when Potter crushes your heart again." Draco spun away from her in a flurry of silvery cloth, strutting back towards Diagon Alley.

Ginny was left glaring at his back, far past the point of annoyance. However, vexation was soon traded for musings as she pondered over his words. What _did_ Harry want with her? He had gone from never so much as inquiring after her to stealing her wand in order to force her to accept his dinner invitation. Well, whatever he wanted, she only wanted answers, Ginny decided. Once she knew why, she could retreat safely into the promise she had sworn upon the letter and forget about him. Yes, there was always the letter to rely on. Only…

Ginny's hand plunged into her pocket, searching recklessly for the folded parchment. She had forgotten that the letter was now in Potter's possession; there was nothing at all to stop her from taking yet another tumble into the land of the impossible. "Damn," Ginny whispered into empty air, her facial expression falling drastically.

~*~

Harry arrived at Ginny's door promptly at seven o'clock, dressed casually in deep green, hooded robes. He fiddled nervously with his wand, praying that he had made no mistake in using a dinner invitation, and a revelation of secrets, in order to initiate a friendship with the spirited Weasley. He waited a long moment before the plain, dark wood door before knocking lightly upon the solid barrier. 

Several moments later, a series of locks clicked, and Harry could detect a number of magical spells falling away. (Auror training had included a spell upon his contacts enabling him to 'feel' small spells, most aurors just wore sunglasses.) A moment later, the door swung back to reveal the rather enchanting figure of Virginia Weasley. Harry had to force his mouth from dropping, for she looked absolutely stunning, and she clearly hadn't put any work into it. 

Her crimson hair was brushed, flowing down her back. A myriad of fiery darts danced across the scarlet waves, created by the glow of multiple candles flowing into the shadowed hall way. She had changed out of her other robes, and was instead dressed in a midnight blue garment, speckled along the hem and cuffs with miniature stars. The pearly radiance cast off by the stars was thrown around her, illuminating the magnificence of her dark eyes, and Harry found something tear at him.

Her lips grew thin with the silence, before she commented dryly, "I don't have all night, Potter." 

He grinned, stepping back from the doorway. "Good evening to you too, Gin." She almost smiled; the corners of her mouth quirking up while she tried to force them from showering her face. Harry was struck by the sudden memory of his mother in Snape's pensieve, and how very alike they seemed to be. It was almost a frightening resemblance, and he wondered why he had never noticed before.

It was then that he realized he was staring at Ginny once again, and soon felt his cheeks grow hot. Luckily, the dark of the hallway shielded the rose color from sight. He offered her a miniscule smile before starting off towards the exit, and they soon found themselves wandering down Erised Alley in complete silence.

Soon after they entered Diagon Alley, Harry decided to give conversation a shot. "So, what have you been up to? Work and all, since Hermione and Neville won't reveal anything."

Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, surprised by the fact that he had asked anyone at all about her. "Actually, that's disclosed information. Hermione doesn't even know, since I'm not permitted to tell."

"Really?" Well that was interesting. He didn't know where she worked, Moody hadn't told him, probably because he had forgotten to ask. However, if the information was secret she must have had an important job, though it didn't make sense for Neville to know and not Hermione. Hermione _was Head of Impossibly Insolvable Intelligence, it was her job to know everything about anything that one could know, should know, or did know. "How does Neville know, then?"_

"I worked with him, for a time. I would be surprised that he hadn't blundered and told anyone, but apparently the new secrecy charms are highly resilient." She shrugged, offering no more information on the subject. "So, when do you start Quidditch?"

"In a few days. It's going to be hell, I haven't flown in years. They only took me to increase ticket sales, but it'll be nice to play again, regardless." He sighed softly, focusing for the first time since that morning what exactly his new position was going to mean. He would be able to _fly, Lord, how he missed being on a broomstick._

Ginny watched him carefully, speculating. He turned to meet her searching gaze, his hopeful smile that had began with the though of playing seeker once more vanishing at an alarming rate. "What? Did I turn into a goblin or something?"

She shook her head, turning her eyes away and back towards the approaching brick wall. "Sorry, just got a bit caught up in my thoughts."

"It happens to the best of us." He replied languidly, tapping the correct brick upon the wall so that they could enter The Leaky Cauldron.

Striding inside, he quickly approached Tom, the bartender. "Can we borrow the fireplace for a minute?" He nodded before hurrying along in his work, clearly having expected the request.

"What? We're not eating here?" Ginny asked as he stepped towards the fireplace, pulling out two small packets of Floo Powder and tossing her one. 

"Believe me, Gin; I don't want to get one of your lectures in front of the whole pub. Neville said they're getting to be as bad as your mother's." He gave her an absentminded grin before opening his packet of powder and pouring it into the palm of his hand. "The place is called The Dancing Lily." He informed her, before stepping into the flames, throwing down the powder, and proudly declaring his destination.

When he emerged, it was into a neat, cozy room. The furniture was a mix of whites, creams, and various shades of yellow. The carpet underneath was a deep green shade, and the walls were covered in large painting of various medieval witches and wizards. Large windows allowed a pale sparkle of sunlight within the room, and the only others within the room were a small family and a group of four men who appeared to be doing business.

Ginny stepped from the fireplace a moment later, brushing soot of her sleeve before casting a glance around. "Wow." Her voice broke into the quiet, a shadow of a whisper. "This is lovely, Harry."

He noted happily that she had called him Harry, before responding politely. "Moony said it was my mother's favorite. I've only been here twice before." He didn't mention that it had been the times in which he felt that he most needed a parent, nor that he had been alone on both occasions. "Let's sit down."

He led her to a small table by one of the windows, where the sun was only just beginning to set. A timid witch approached to get their beverage order, a lily tucked behind her left ear. "Good evening, my name is Alice; can I get you something to drink?"

Harry turned to Ginny as she scanned the list that had suddenly appeared before her. "Purple Pixie Tea sounds good, please." She requested, and Harry requested the same.

As soon as the witch walked away, Harry studied her, watching as she settled her hands on the table and gazed out the window. "Ginny," she turned to look at him, curious. "I promised you answers." At once, her attention was focused fully on him, and he slowly began to explain.

  


~*~

That was fun! I decided that the Ron info and bringing forth of Malfoy was plenty for one chapter, and you all can wait another chapter before you get to know why! ((Actually, I just need time to come up with a reason. Any suggestions?)) However, I promise to have the next chapter up by Thursday, so don't fret! Just review!


	7. Chapter VI: Burning History

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Get it through your heads, people!

Notes: This was written at like… well, really early and really late. So please excuse my lack of grammar and stuff.

~*~

Harry slowly brought the letter to rest in the center of the table, obviously having difficulty collecting both his thoughts and words. "I don't _know_ why I wrote that letter, Gin. I think I had reasons at the time, but everything was so confused. Leaving Hogwarts, well, I knew it left me completely vulnerable. Dumbledore wanted me to go back to the Dursley's, but my uncle wouldn't have it. I didn't know how to protect myself. So I moved to Godric's Hollow, to the very spot where my parents had formerly lived. It gave me strength, I suppose. But I knew Voldemort would come, that was obvious. It was only a matter of time. Every night was painful. My world was full of dreams, about Ron and Hermione dying, or Dumbledore, or… or _you_ dying. Dumbledore offered to be my Secret Keeper, but I couldn't accept. Voldemort had found about the prophecy. He knew I was the only one who could kill him." Ginny made an inquiring noise, and Harry's gaze grew distant. "The prophecy smashed fifth year, I know. But Dumbledore was the one who recorded it to begin with. It basically said that Voldemort and I could not live while the other one also lived. Only I could kill him, and he managed to figure that out just before seventh year let out. I don't know how. He knew that Dumbledore would be my first choice in Secret Keeper, and I couldn't put him in that kind of danger. Hermione was already in hiding, and Ron was already Secret Keeper for her. Dumbledore suggested that I use you." Here he paused, staring out the window, as Ginny waited patiently for him to continue. "He's very persuasive, and I knew that if he asked you that you'd say yes. Even then, you were so strong, Gin. You would never have backed down just because of Voldemort, and as soon as Dumbledore mentioned it you would have pestered me until I agreed too. So I did the only thing I could do; I made sure that you would never say yes." Slowly, he released a sigh, rubbing a palm across the light scar still etched across his forehead. "I was caught up in my fear, my hate, in my frustration and desperation. It was so hard to force myself to write that letter. It took six bottles of whiskey and three sleepless nights, but I finally came up with something cruel enough to get you away. When I finally regained my senses, I only had a few weeks to mourn the loss before the attack. So many died in that battle, I convinced myself that pushing you away was right. I didn't want you to end up like Moony, and Tonks… and Dumbledore…" His voice trailed off, as Harry fought to keep control of himself. It was so hard, to open up to Ginny and yet so hard to deny her the truth. He had prepared a lie, but the moment he had picked her up Harry had known he would not be able to lie to her. The result was forcing back tears while he pointedly avoided her gaze.

As luck would have it, the waitress arrived at that moment to deliver their drinks and take their orders. Ginny ordered chicken, and Harry merely whispered that he wanted the same. The witch left, with an odd look in his direction, but he paid no attention. It was quite a shock when a small palm suddenly came to rest over where his lay on the table.

"Harry," Ginny whispered. He looked up, slowly, almost afraid to meet her eyes. When he did, he was quite taken aback. Instead of the pity he had been expecting, or even a sort of anger or frustration, there was only sorrow in her gaze. He had fallen headfirst into an endless pool of Hershey's; warm, calm, and wonderful. "Harry, their deaths were not your fault."

He scowled. Who was she to tell him that? "The whole battle was my fault. If it hadn't been for me, Voldemort would never have attacked."

"If it hadn't been for you, Voldemort would have taken over twenty years ago, remember?"

"That wasn't me, that was my mother. She died to save me, so that I could half-kill him. I would rather her have lived."

"She died to save you, Harry, because she loved you. So did all of those others in The Battle. They died to save you, or your friends, or the wizarding world in general. If you hadn't killed Voldemort that night, wizards, and muggles, would stand no chance now. Instead, you killed Voldemort, captured Lucius, and captured or killed a number of other Death Eaters." Ginny's voice was low and soft, a chorus of soothing notes to Harry's dimmed senses. Sighing, he brushed his left hand idly through his hair.

"It still hurts." He pointed out, though somehow the childish comment didn't sound at all juvenile, considering the circumstances.

"Life hurts, Harry, get used to it." She offered him a tiny, nearly non-existent grin, but it still somehow cheered Harry's gloomy attitude. He offered a miniature smile back, rather tentatively.

"I didn't want to tell you all that, you know. It feels weak, confessing to all of the emotions. It's almost like I can't control myself, or something equally pathetic." His smile was quickly replaced with a grimace, and he slipped his hand away from under hers subconsciously.

"It's not weak to show emotion, it just shows that you're human. If you could go through all of that without feeling guilty or depressed, then I'd be worried." She withdrew her hands from the table as their food arrived, laid carefully before them before Alice bustled away. She offered the witch a parting thank you before focusing on Harry once more. She could tell that he was still feeling awful, for the piercing emerald stare had been directed at the fading sunset. "What else is bothering you?"

"Ron."

The one word answer was enough, and Ginny immediately found herself blinking back tears. "I haven't been allowed to visit him. How is he?"

"Hermione told me to stop coming after I… after she found me in there once. She really wants to revive him, but its taking her ages to work out the spell." He blinked back tears, feeling yet another onslaught of complete guilt. "I hope she figures it out."

Ginny nodded awkwardly. "Is she… Is Hermione supposed to be working on that? I mean, it would be valuable information, but I thought the ministry's priorities are… different."

"Yeah, she's working with Moody on it. Ron could have information on Lestrange, which is their reasoning for working it out. Hermione would work on it with or without ministry approval though, you know her. She feels terrible for arguing with him, she somehow thinks that it's her fault that he got captured." His voice cracked on the last word, and he suddenly glanced down, surprised to find his meal before him. "I'm not all that hungry."

"Neither am I, not anymore." She twirled a lock of flaming hair around one finger. "You asked me why I kept the letter."

"Yeah," Harry jumped at the chance to get the subject away from Ron. "Yeah, I did."

"I suppose it was for my own stupid reasons. I wanted to prove to myself I could forget you, hate you just as much as you seemed to hate me, and all that. I kept it with me all the time as a sort of reminder. I'd see an article about you in the paper, or hear Fred and George mention you; and I could just touch it and remember that I promised myself to forget." She shrugged, glaring severely at her chicken. "I don't want to forget anymore. That is, not all of it."

Harry smiled, though a touch of sorrow lined the creases of his lips. "Those aren't stupid reasons at all, Gin. It was all for the best, I suppose. Enough people were lost in The Battle, in the war altogether; maybe our selfish reasons protected each other." Ginny remained silent as she picked idly at her food. Harry could tell that something about what he had just said had upset her, but she didn't seem willing to tell. "Something the matter," Harry questioned.

She looked up, a wayward strand of hair falling over her eyes. "What about after it was all over? You could have explained all this to me two years ago, why wait so long?"

He scowled down at his chicken, directing an accusatory glare at the mashed potatoes as if it was all somehow its fault. "Thanks all the same Ginny, but I was too busy to hope for ending up in St. Mungo's. I don't much enjoy being hexed, auror or no."

She laughed, the musical quality flitting lightly around the room, as if longing to be set free; released into an open meadow of golden flowers. Harry shook himself mentally for the thought, pushing back from the meal in sudden dislike. "Come on, let's go for a walk. It's too nice an evening to waste inside." 

He stood, offering her his arm after tossing the appropriate amount of galleons on the table, and a rather large tip. Ginny stood after him, but she didn't take the offered arm. Instead, she lifted the letter from the table with three slender fingers, and tossed it carelessly into a nearby fireplace. They both stood in silence, reminiscing as the flames slowly licked away the last remnants of the horrible barrier.

~*~

Well, that was bloody awful. Hope you all don't hate me too much, but I was idea-less, and I wasn't sure if I was going to have enough time to write this later. No guarantee's on another chapter for a while, though I'll try to have on by Sunday. Until then, please review!!!


	8. Chapter VII: Etched Conclusions

Notes: I'm sooo sorry about this taking forever. I've been nervous about starting school, finally being a freshman, and all that. Plus I've been spending loads of time with my friends, and I went to the Evanescence concert that rolled around. (Omg it was awesome!) Plus I was working on a project that I don't plan on putting up here till about Christmas. Actually, I wasn't intending on updating this until next Saturday, but then I got Savvy's review. I had to update. So thank you Savvy, for finally pushing me into another chapter!

~*~

Ginny retreated to her room that evening with mixed emotions, shutting the door softly behind her as a frown replaced her look of contentment. Harry has returned her to her apartment immediately after they finished their meal, both of them walking in a thoughtful silence. She had been pondering his words, and his intentions behind them. It was perfectly delightful that he had finally explained the letter, but something still wasn't quite right. Stumbling across her once wasn't enough to make him chase her all through Diagon Alley, into the muggle world, and to steal her wand all in an attempt to get her to forgive him. There had to be an alternative motive.

Still pondering it, she deftly went through the motions of getting prepared for bed before realizing that it was not even nine o'clock. Grumbling, Ginny flopped into the chair before her small desk, leaning her elbow on the wood surface and resting her chin in her hand. Lifting her quill, she glared down at the organized jumble of papers, severely hating all the red tape that came with her work. However, she set herself resolutely to the task, thrusting thoughts of Harry to the side.

~*~

Hermione was in a similar position several miles above Ginny, though her hopes of shoving away thoughts of one of the men in her life were hopeless. Setting herself the task of discovering a cure for the dementor's kiss was incredibly stupid, as it was deemed impossible by most, and those who believed in her cause knew the emotional damage it was wreaking on Hermione. Moody had tried on several occasions to dissuade her from the study, but it was hopeless. They both knew that in all likelihood Hermione was the only witch who could delve into the impossible and come forth with a solution, as they both knew how critical it was to the capture of Lestrange.

Ron had spent nearly a year within the clutches world's largest antagonist, and the auror's had no doubt of it. Their only was problem was that Bellatrix had delivered Ron to them shortly after having him bestowed with a kiss, making him utterly useless. They needed a cure to revive him, for where Lestrange was not nearly as powerful as Voldemort; she was unexpectedly cunning and calculated, and had the strong magical gift all Black's inherited. It was enough to make her quite a threat.

Dumbledore had mentioned once, shortly before his death, that there had formerly been a cure for the horrendous deeds of the dementors. Hermione had forgotten his words until she had seen Ron, blank faced and empty eyed. She had decided, immediately, that she would rediscover it. There were too many things that she wanted to tell him to simply let him remain in the whitewashed walls of those without mentality.

Hermione had begun to think it useless until, just a week ago; she had deciphered the first line of the rather ancient code. One of closest blood, which she had assumed had meant Ginny. The only difficulty was that the first line had taken nearly two years, and there five lines to go. Ten more years, Hermione didn't think that she could possibly clutch onto her hopes for that long.

She hissed through her teeth, tossing the unhappy thoughts aside and settling her mind firmly on the task at hand. If she had anything at all to do with it, Ron would come back. He had to. Hermione was not about to lose him.

A sudden knock on her door erased her concentration, and weary brown eyes were drawn to the clock above her small window. "Who could it be now? It's nearly ten." She growled out, stuffing a few confidential papers in to their appropriate folders before calling, "It's open."

Hermione was quite shocked when Harry stepped in, his dark hair windswept and a broomstick in one hand. But the thing that astonished her most was the fact that he was grinning. A huge, vibrant, turning of the lips that she hadn't seen on his face since their school days.

"Merlin, Hermione; it felt so good to fly." She nearly laughed aloud at the enthusiasm in his voice. It was amusing; the things sports could do to a person like Harry. He seemed considerably changed from their talk--goodness, was it only that morning?

"What made you pick up your Firebolt, Harry? Practice?" She asked, motioning towards the other comfortable maroon armchair in the room. He took it, following her gesture, his smile so joyous that she momentarily forgot the work on her desk.

"Not really. But it was just sitting there when I got home, so I decided to give it a whirl. I flew up here, and decided to pay you a visit. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. It's a welcome rest from all this." She sighed, the brief happiness doused with suddenly painful memories of Ron.

Harry leaned forward, placing his hand over where hers rested on the desk. "Don't worry, Hermione, you'll find it. If anyone can, you can." He offered her an encouraging smile, this one soft and friendly. "You've got the resources, the brains, and the motive. You'll get him back."

It was so odd, for Harry to show such emotion, that Hermione was rendered momentarily speechless. When she finally found her voice, her tone was curiously teasing; though a drop of sorrow remained imbedded within. "What did Ginny do with you?"

He grinned again, shaking his head. "So, how have you been? Not overworking yourself, are you?"

"Oh, like you're a good one to talk." She responded, a small smile appearing nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, I dunno. I flew, didn't I? And I didn't have dinner alone, like usual."

"Oh? Who did you eat with? Neville?"

He glared sharply, placing his hands behind his head. "No, thank you. I ate with Ginny. We sorted things out."

Hermione clapped her hands excitedly together, eyes lighting up. "Excellent. Moody'll be delighted."

"Yeah, well, there's just one problem." Hermione raised her eyebrows, clearly not seeing the fall. "Friends don't normally stalk other friends, which is basically what you want me to do. Ginny isn't going to put up with me trailing her night and day. She'll get suspicious, or she'll just tell me to bugger off. I don't appreciate to be hexed."

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry, Harry; but there's nothing to tell you. We need her more than you can imagine."

"We?" Harry leaned forward unexpectedly, and she began to get the impression that he had visited for more than was apparent. "So you do have something to do with this. That's why you were in Moody's office. What is it, Hermione? Does it have something to do with Ron?"

She had forgotten that despite the brawn, Harry had brains. Or rather, he drew excellent conclusions. "We think, no, I think, that she's the first piece of the puzzle. We have the first line." Harry made as if to speak, but she cut him off with the shake of a head. "I can't tell you what it is, Harry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have told you that."

"Bloody secrets," Harry cursed, running a hand through his midnight locks.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic half-smile. "You know how it is. The ministry's crazy about all these secrets. You'd think they'd have lightened up a bit with the lack of attacks, but security is just as strong as ever."

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Well, I'd better go. I'll se you 'round, 'Mione." He stood, gripping his broomstick in one hand and strolling out the door.

"See you, Harry!" Hermione called after him, before focusing on the tiny picture on her desk. It was a tiny picture of a red-head, his grin wide as he waved at her from the seventh year picture. "We'll do it Ron, I swear we will."

~*~

Draco lounged before the fire in his living room, surrounded by elegant tapestries, statues, and furniture. The place was chill, despite the fire roaring in the hearth before his pale silver eyes. He grinned when a head suddenly appeared within the roaring flames.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." He greeted her, eyes scanning over her slick, dark hair and vibrantly malicious eyes.

"No time for sentimentalities, Malfoy. Have you begun?" Her voice, crisp and cool, cut through the atmosphere.

"Tsk, tsk, do you think so little of me? It is only a matter of time." He lifted a cigarette from the golden box beside his impressively large armchair, lighting it airily.

She snarled, her face looking briefly like that of her former cousin's when caught in a particularly nasty moment with Snape. "Don't get arrogant. Any problems at all?"

"Potter boy's come around again. She gave him quite a slap for mentioning her dear brother."

Lestrange laughed, nodding gleefully. "Very well. Just make sure that he doesn't out due you."

"There's no need to worry about that." Bellatrix nodded curtly, vanishing before Draco's sugary sweet words fell into the near silence. "My home has been lacking a certain feminine touch."

~*~

Please don't get mad at me for the awful chapter, I tried. Ask phantom, this little mess of words took me ages. But yeah… Please review! I'll try to update on Saturday, but I'm not sure that I'll be able to. School starts tomorrow, and I don't know just how fast they'll start piling the homework on.


	9. Chapter VIII: Plans and Aquaintances

Disclaimer: No, I don't own it. Duh! Except my new characters; Egnarts Niacigam and "The Man".

Notes: Sorry for taking a week longer than expected, I got loaded with homework. School sucks. I don't know when I'll update next. Probably in about two weeks again. Less if I can make it.

~*~

Ginny rose at precisely 6 o'clock the next morning, her usual point of awakening. However, today she found herself ultimately more exhausted than normal, having been up much of the night pondering or working. In some cases, she did both at once. Its result was only three hours of sleep, and to awake not on the bed, but in the seat before her desk. 

Grumbling, she slowly tilted her aching head upwards, in a weak attempt to loosen her neck muscles. Music, muggle music, continued to pour from her small alarm clock, shouting to the entire house. The song that blared was the Last Song, by All American Rejects. It was one of Ginny's most loathed songs, if merely because it seemed so true.

Had always seemed so true, she corrected herself mentally. It certainly didn't anymore. As the chorus blasted once more, she snatched up her wand with sore muscles and threw it at the clock. Upon contact, silence deafened the room.

"Thank Merlin," she murmured, rising slowly from her chair.

Forty five minutes later, Ginny was swinging her hair up in a ponytail as she gulped down a bagel and attempted to slip into her shoes. It didn't appear to be working very well. To make matters worse, a knock suddenly sounded on her door. She spit the remains of her bagel into the garbage can, still trying to pull her hair up as she wandered towards the door.

"Just a minute!" Ginny called, securing her hair band before yanking open the door once more.

"Hello?" She stated, more as a question than anything else. The man before her was one she had never seen before. Ginny had expected someone quite different, and was now slightly embarrassed by her fantasy. She had wanted a morning row to wake her up.

"Ms. Weasley?" The man asked, his voice a pleasant baritone. It fit his well dressed appearance, in elegant grey dress robes with slicked brown hair and cloudy grey eyes.

"Yes? Is there something wrong?" She asked tentatively, quite surprised when he offered a smooth hand. She took it, giving it a slow, easy shake.

"Nothing at all, Ms. Weasley. I actually had a business proposition my employer wishes to put before you."

"Really? Then please, come in. I'm afraid my place is a bit of a disaster, I wasn't expecting company." She invited pleasantly, stepping back to allow the man entry.

He sauntered elegantly within, his sharp gaze giving the small flat a once over before returning to Ginny. He then offered a cool, polite smile, before inclining his head in a small bow. "Please, I have forgotten my manners. Let me introduce myself. I am--" There was a short, extravagant pause, "--Egnarts Niacigam."

The name was clearly supposed to be important, as he waved his hands with delicate flourish upon its twisted pronunciation. However, Ginny's expression remained baffled. She had never heard the title before. "Er, excuse me, Mr. Niacigam, but I don't believe I've heard of you before."

He appeared astounded, his eyes widening in shock. It was almost amusing, to watch the cocky smile fall away, and the style drain from his stance. It took him nearly a full minute to regain his composure. "Egnarts Niacigam, alchemist extraordinaire, you 'ave never heard of me?"

"No." She replied simply, toying with a lock of hair. "But it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Niacigam. May I ask what you want? I'm in a bit of hurry, work and all."

"Yes, yes; you work in the Department of Mysteries, yes? A lesser branch of it, but most amazing. I must congratulate you."

Ginny's brows rose, startled out of her impatience. "You would know this how?"

"My employer, Ms. Weasley, is a very resourceful man. Now, as I was saying, he has a business proposition for you. However, there's no time for him to come directly to you; current affairs are intruding upon what little time he has. I'm here to request that you meet him tonight for dinner, at six o'clock outside of Hogsmeade. Is that at all possible for you?" His air had become strictly business-like, those his tone remained imbedded with formal arrogance.

She strode towards the door, snatching her purse off the table as she went. "No, I'm very sorry sir, but I don't accept anonymous invitations to dinner. It's policy, in my line of work. Now, if you please; I need to be off, as do you."

Without delay, Ginny proceeded to shove him out of the door, locking it behind her.

~*~

Harry was scowling as he trailed Ginny through the streets of Diagon Alley. He couldn't believe that she had just let that man walk in to her apartments with hardly any question at all. Bloody hell, he could have been a Death Eater! She could have been killed! Harry momentarily forgot that Ginny had been getting herself out of difficult positions since she was fourteen, caught up in his fury and fear over what might have happened to her. He knew very well that if she was hurt on his watch, he would never forgive himself.

Drawing his cloak closer, he pushed aside the rush of doubt to instead mull over the situation at hand. He was supposed to trail Ginny until she reached her office, and to then leave for the quidditch pitch. Ginny would be having lunch with Luna today, so she would be protected there. Then, he need only find her once she left, and follow her for the rest of the evening. There was one, very large, glitch in the plan. He had no idea as to where Ginny worked, and it would require knowing this in order to follow her to her office, or to find her once her workday finished. He could ask Moody, but not until his quidditch practice was done. The only other option was to follow her. This was impossible, as she would most likely be apparating to her job. 

Sighing, Harry ducked his head when her eyes scanned the crowd. Peering up at her, he watched as she entered the tiny building just inside of Diagon Alley, The Apparation Station.

He glanced down at his watch, brows rising in surprise. He was supposed to be at quidditch practice in ten minutes, the conversation held inside Ginny's flat had taken longer than he thought. Darting into The Apparation Station, he glanced around, but found no trace of the red head. Harry hurried forward, leaning against the main desk, hair tousling to reveal the faintest edge of his scar. "Excuse me, but has a Ms. Weasley just passed through."

The witch at the desk, appearing incredibly bored, didn't even take the time to glance up as she continued the writing flowery letter resting atop the piles of papers. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't give out information on clients. It's the policy." She pointed deftly to the small card resting on the surface, which stated clearly that no information would be allotted guests.

He sighed, snatching the letter from beneath her nose. "I know, miss, but it's urgent. I believe it's also policy that the only tasks employees are allowed to work on are the ones strictly related to the task. I'm sure your Mr.," he glanced down at the paper, "Edward has nothing to do with apparating."

She sniffed haughtily, but flipped through the pages of her book nonetheless. "A Miss Ginny Weasley passed through apparition station seven precisely two minutes ago, destined for the Ministry of Magic; happy?" She glared up at him, and he released her letter.

"Thank you," Harry replied shortly, stepping away. If she was at the Ministry, then clearly she had no need of further protection. He would visit Moody after practice, and find out a bit more about Ginny's mysterious Ministry work.

~*~

Hermione glared ferociously down at the next line, which was nothing more than an odd jumble of dots. This was so _impossible_! Why would anyone code a cure as important as this? It made no sense! Of course, the man who was supposed to have created the spell was later considered a madman by some, so perhaps that was not such a leap of imagination.

"Bloody Merlin! I swear, this blasted work must be the hardest bit of logic ever! Madmen and their secrets!" She cried angrily, flipping through the next few pages of the huge tome titled A Guide to Braille, Buenicornian, and Bolivian. 

For the second time within twenty-four hours, an unexpected knock rang against her door. "Yes?" Hermione called impatiently, her eyes never leaving the page of the book. The door crept slowly open, the figure outside clearly hesitant to disrupt a frustrated mastermind such as Hermione Granger.

Nevertheless, the door finally came completely open. "Pardon me, Miss Granger, but I was referred to you by a Mr. Weasley. It has been several years, indeed, but I recalled your name upon re-entering Britain. Perhaps you could help me?"

Hermione organized her papers swiftly, talking as she worked. "That depends on what exactly you need help with. I'm rather busy at the moment." She glanced up, blinking as she studied the man who stood before her. He looked clearly uncomfortable; almost like someone in the presence of nobility. Other than though he appeared quite nice. His hair was a shade of medium brown, slightly longer than usual. It reminded her somewhat of Remus Lupin. The man's eyes were a deep, friendly grey, with just a touch of gold flickering near the pupil. He was dressed well, in navy blue robes of fine quality, black boots, trousers, and shirt evident through the openings. All in all, the broad shouldered and studious look fit him well.

He offered her a slow, tentative smile. "Well, you see, I'm having a bit of a problem with some translation. It's some odd form of Threstrian, and he said you'd studied all sorts of Threstrian. I wouldn't have asked, but I'm visiting Britain for a few months and thought I'd give it a shot."

"Yes, I took the time to study plenty of Threstrian. Though you'd really need Rubeus Hagrid to get it perfect, I'm sure I can work it out for you." She offered a small smile in return, before a question occurred. "May I ask which Mr. Weasley referred you? There are several."

"Ah, that would be Ronald Weasley."

~*~

So, what do you think? Don't worry, "The Man" has a point. I wanted an OC. And more…. But that's later. The other guy doesn't, except as sort of a messenger. Some points in this chapter, but nothing vital. A bit more info on Ginny; which you've been asking for. Please, review! Reviews are nice!


	10. Chapter IX: Escalating Flight

Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own it! Bet you never knew that. Sadly, it's the truth. I just manipulate JKR's little figures to my will.

Notes: I get a flying scene in this chapter! Haha! That's all that I like, but its plenty for me! And I updated FAST! Hahaha! Though, this is just sorta an in-between chapter.

~~~=vision

~*~

Hermione gaped at him, eyes wide in shock. She wasn't altogether sure that she had heard him correctly. Words, and tears, formed in the back of her throat; but she could simply not bring them forward. Several minutes of deafening tension passed, before the words were shoved past her dry throat, though it was little more than a squeak. "R... Ron... Ron Weasley?"

He seemed befuddled by her expression and sudden stuttering, but responded with a small nod all the same. "Yes, we were friends. Why? Did something happen to him?" The fear was there, quite abruptly, edged within his tone. The war had slain many, both during and in the aftershock.

Hermione glanced down into her lap, fists clenched as she fought the torrents of tears that threatened to spill. It was frustrating, to have any innocent question so shockingly thrust on her. "Yes... He, well... It was after the battle. Ron was captured by Lestrange," the word spat out like a curse. "When he was returned... The Dementor's Kiss had been administered."

The man sucked in a sharp breath, halfway between a sob and a hiss of fury. Hermione lifted chocolate pools, noting the anguish on his face. The visitor fell heavily against the wall, burying his face in his hands. Several minutes late, he managed to choke out a reasonable sentence. "How.... How long? Oh, Merlin, we've lost him forever."

She had meant to answer, but his second statement sent her leaping to her feet. "No!" She cried, before she could help it. Grey eyes flickered upwards from the cover of his hands.

"Miss Granger--" He began, only to find himself cut off by her speech.

"He's not gone forever. I'm going to fix him." She declared, tilting her head in a proud, defiant, completely Gryffindor position. "That's why I work in this department. I cure the incurable."

He blinked, dropping his hands slowly. "But it's impossible, there's no way to alter the kiss. Everyone knows that."

She blinked, loathing the term everyone. It brought her straight back to muggle elementary, where you were taught the word everyone was almost sure to declare a sentence false. "That's untrue. There used to be a way, invented by Oddlory Dottey. The ministry prohibited its use, during the Reign of Terror, when dementors were used to kill wizards."

A half smile appeared on his face, though strained. "I was told you intelligence level exceeded most. I admit, I did not expect it to be true. There were many exaggerations in... In his words."

She sighed softly, offering a tiny smile in return. "Yes, he did like to be the hero. Though much of it was deserved." She pointed out quietly, reminiscing briefly over their light, carefree battles in childhood. Suddenly, she seemed to realize that he was staring at her, and she flushed. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to be rude. It's nice to remember the good times, sometimes. Please, take a seat."

He followed her instruction, lowering his lithe frame into the chair Harry had occupied the evening before. With a loss for conversation, he resorted to a common courtesy that had slipped his mind. "Excuse me, Miss Granger. I believe I forgot to give you my name. I'm Philian Davis; I work in the Irish Ministry of Magic, for the time being."

She nodded, and accepted the offered hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis. Please, call me Hermione. Miss Granger is too formal for my taste."

"In which case, call me Phil. Philian reminds me too much of the book in the Bible, Philippians. It's much too long, and a simply horrendous name."

"Perhaps, but the wizards during the time of Philippians were fascinating. The craft was barely existent, and it was during that time period that it seemed to form in to full bloom." Hermione pointed out, scholar extraordinaire that she was.

"Yes, but it can be debated that it truly began with the creation of Hogwarts, the first wizarding school."

"Yes, but--"

Hermione promptly proceeded into her first academic debate in some time, thoughts of depression briefly forgotten.

~*~

Harry strode out onto the pitch, glancing around with tentative anxiety. It had been remarked upon, by several people, that he should follow the path of quidditch. But that had been before the war, before he was years out of practice. He hadn't caught a snitch since he was seventeen; there was no telling as to how disastrous his performance would be. It would not, perhaps, have been so hard, but for the sentimental value of the Chudley Cannons. They had always been Ron's team, and it was this thread of memory that made Harry most want to prove himself.

The pitch surrounding him was nice. The grass was slightly overgrown, but it was lush and green. The weather was bright, glinting off the stadium. It was not a very large stadium; the Cannons had no money to build a brilliant work of art. Instead, enormous, faded orange stand were lifted in to the sky. The hoops could have used a bit of cleaning, but they were serviceable. Serviceable seemed to be the word to define the Chudley Cannons.

Upon entering the changing rooms, he found their standards like everything else; nice, but simple. The other members of the team were already there, clad in orange robes and eying a large chalkboard covered in squiggly lines. All heads turned expectantly towards him, and Harry found himself under the scrutiny of many demanding quidditch players.

"Er, hello." He rambled randomly, gathering himself behind the words. Expectant sportsmen were nothing compared to thriving Death Eaters.

The man, obviously the captain, who was standing at the board, scanned him quickly. "Hello Potter." He answered shortly, returning immediately to strategy.

Harry took the final seat, having dressed in his quidditch robes that morning in order to save time. Now he was grateful for this, because it meant he could focus fully on what the Captain was proposing. There were several occasions Harry believed that he could have altered the tactics in order to form a stronger front, but it was rude to mention such things on the first day. Instead, he waited until the Captain would address him to speak.

"Potter," he shot, "stay on your broom. You're a tourist attraction, nothing more."

Harry blushed, but his jaw was suddenly set. He would show him who was just a tourist attraction. He refrained from comment, deciding to argue in talent, not words. Debate was Hermione's strong point.

Harry was the last to be spoken to, before the team filed out. There, they launched quickly in to the air. He noted that, although he rode only his old Firebolt, it was still better than half the team's brooms.

The rushing, light feeling of flight swept over Harry once more, and he knew he would be perfectly fine. Flying was in his blood, it ran deeper than practice and talent, and it was his freedom. Only in the air could he feel completely away from the glory of his title, the depression of its aftermath, and the pain of life.

He swooped in easy circles, waiting for the release of the snitch. Moments later, he saw the tiny glint of gold flutter out of the box. Closing his eyes, Harry counted softly to ten, before lids flickered open and jade windows began to search the terrain. He soared higher, above the game, concentration completely devoted to his task.

Beneath him, quaffles were occasionally being fumbled, and bludgers drifted astray, in a sort of ordered pandemonium. However, Harry paid it no attention. He was the seeker; there was only one aspect of the game on which he must focus.

And there it was. A flicker of glinting sunshine, fluttering low around one goal post. Harry shot off like a Nike Missile, victory his goal. Closer and closer he soared, the familiar and yet unfamiliar exhilaration of the chase driving his adrenaline. His fingers lifted off the broom, seeking the tiny, daring ball.

Harry's hand closed around the tiny ball, seconds before he was overcome with a sudden vision.

~~~Oliver Wood raced into the fray, not on foot, but on broomstick. His dark robes fluttered eerily around his well muscled figure, resembling a phantom menace. Curses rained down upon those below him, as he fired off every hex and curse that came to mind.

Katie Bell was down there, somewhere. Oliver knew she would be battling to save Gryffindor's seeker; she always had been a dashingly brave chaser. The fear had overcome him, when Katie's owl had reached him just over an hour before. Her tone implied that havoc was on his way, but it was not the world Oliver was concerned about.

It was Katie.

For years, he had been developing a crush upon the girl. Eventually, it had become more than that. He had not wanted to quell it, and now his only thought was of telling her. If she went, or if he did, it would not be without Wood's declaration of undying love.

He heard her voice, suddenly; clear and lovely through the raging battle. Then her thin, tall image came into his line of site, and Oliver threw himself towards her. Leaping off his broom, Oliver's keeper instincts overtook him, and he launched suddenly towards a bolt of death. It had been aimed for Katie, but Oliver took it instead. Eyes rolling back, he swore his dying promise. "I love you, Katie Bell. I always will."~~~

Harry re-opened his eyes, to seek the hawk like features of Captain Juno Lewis staring down at him, jaw slightly slack. "You alright, Potter?" Quite surprisingly, Lewis sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright." He sat up, shaking his head to rid the buzz from his ears. In his palm, the tiny golden ball remained clenched. "I'm sorry I feel off my broom," Harry began to apologize, only to receive a delighted clap on the shoulder.

"Potter, my boy, why didn't you tell us you were a bloody brilliant seeker! That's the fastest we've ever had it caught!" A wide grin spread across his face, and Harry glanced around, only now seeing the wide smiles on his teammate's faces. 

"Er, yeah, well thanks." He had never been one to like compliments, though inwardly he was now glowing with pride.

Until the vision returned, and guilt overwhelmed him.

~*~

So, what think you, of readers of fanfiction? I know there's no Ginny, but you don't get to know just what she does yet. But there's Harry! And Hermione! And Phil! And FLYING!!!! I love flying. Do you? And, I really need to know—Next chapter, would you like violence action? Or romance action? I plan on doing one or the other. Review, and tell me!


	11. Chapter X: Scorch

Disclaimer: Its not mine.

Notes: Im soooo sorry that this took so long! School x Writers Block = Not Good. I really I am sorry. I tried to make the chapter a lil longer, to make up for it. Sorry.

~*~

Harry soared towards the Ministry, filled with elation. The first practice had been both smashing and relieving, the delights that came with flight causing a broad Grin to curve over Harry's face. Jade orbs were sprinkled with true happiness, so unlike the wary smile that had previously graced his face on only the best of days. He couldn't help it. His world was slowly, methodically falling back into place. After almost no contact, he had seen Hermione twice the day before. His Hogwarts obsession, quidditch, was finally possible again. He had a mission and an assignment, but it was one that didn't seem to include death. And then there was Ginny. Crazy, mysterious, fiery Ginny who he could finally face. Things were looking up for Mr. H. Potter.

Having reached the platform outside the great, pearly building, Harry went through the brief I.D. check that took place. He could remember thinking it a waste of time and an annoyance. Now, it was a precaution, and a valuable one. Even if the guards were only a handful of novice aurors and scholars. At least they were a barrier, albeit a small one.

Running a hand through his wind tousled hair, Harry grinned at the female guard before entering his workplace. People jostled through the mammoth antechamber, orbs of light glimmering with multicolored fire. The hues danced over the crowd, illuminating individuals as they rushed through their workdays. Automatically, Harry was assessing every figure in the room; searching for a potential enemy. Almost at once, the lopsided grin began to fade. Life may have been going better for Harry, but who knew how it could be going for others.

Finding no one suspicious, he slipped silently and swiftly through the throng. He loathed great masses of hurried people. They always seemed so preoccupied in their life troubles, not to mention the fact that he had never met a crowd that stay away when ordered to. Years of frustrating gawkers during miniature battles had developed a fierce hate. 

Deep in thought, he was startled when man, walking sideways in animated debate, tipped completely backwards and went hurtling into Harry. Cursing under his breath, he leapt back three feet, wand drawn in a single motion. Indeed, it took him exactly six tenths of a second, only one tenth off of the record. (A record which was held by a Mr. F. Longbottom.) He didn't speak, instead analyzing the man before him.

From Harry's perspective, the man looked like a threat. Studios look, accompanied by a knowledge that seemed buried deep. There was a touch of flame in his cool eyes, something that spoke of experience. He had a wand out now, and not as slow as other's might have; but still slowly enough to be unnoticed for speed. It was a practiced timing, one which he remembered Remus Lupin pulling off on several occasions.

Therefore, he was quite surprised when a familiar hand came to rest on his wrist. "Harry, calm down." Hermione ordered sternly, voice tight with disapproving amusement. "This is Phil Davis. He works for the Irish Ministry. There is no threat here."

He lowered his wand slowly, not bothering to I.D. Hermione. With some people, one never needed to ask. A closeness had been grown that was such a strong bond; it was as if they were siblings. It had been a bond developed between The Trio, one discovered in their seventh year. A few others had held it. Dumbledore had such a bond with both McGonagall and Snape. Arthur and Molly Weasley shared such a union. A few known others, but not many. It was a rare gift between people.

"Irish Ministry, is it Davis? Name the current second in command of the International Magical Games and Sports there." Harry asked immediately, just to be certain. He heard Hermione's hen-like cluck of content annoyance before Davis answered.

"Bonnie Clarkman, though she's expected to be promoted shortly. Darrell Luthan, current fourth, is expected to take her place. Inauguration is already set for the fourteenth." Phil replied, his tone comfortable and bearing little animosity.

However, it bothered Harry. It was the ideal auror's answer, one that the common public should not be able to pull off. And yet he had.

Hermione entered Harry's line of vision as she offered a hand to Phil, helping him to his feet. She smiled a bit, and Phil grinned back. Harry's suspicion grew to hatred in a heartbeat. "Alright, then; I'll talk to you later, okay Harry?"

"Where are you two going?" He asked, suddenly rounding to the offensive. It was always better to be on the hunter than prey, something agreed upon by all aurors.

"For a late lunch. We got caught up in intellectual debate, and forgot to eat." Hermione replied, eyebrows rising just a bit.

"Can't you eat here? It's not as if The Leaky Cauldron is a haven for excellent food, and it's quicker."

She sighed, fixating him with a small glare. "It's lunch Harry. Nothing to get upset over. Unless you have some urgent piece of work for me to pool over, I feel like going someplace less stifling."

"You already have the most urgent work possible, Hermione. You know there's nothing more important than it. Harry responded coldly, before he could help himself. The enigmatic Philian Davis was setting his mind down nearly buried tracks.

He regretted it in an instant. Her face fell, and a frown sloped over Hermione's lips. Something glittered in the corner of her eye, and she wiped it hastily away. "I know. You don't need to remind me. Just, please Harry, I need a break." Her voice was soft, and the creeping sensations spreading through his mind vanished in an instant.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. Take care of yourself."

"You too." She replied, before striding away, Phil flanking her.

'Take care of yourself'; it was the new age goodbye. It was rather depressing, once you considered it. No more 'have fun' or 'hasta lavista', but simply 'take care of yourself'. With that unsettling thought, Harry turned back towards his destination.

The walk to Moody's seemed to crawl. He could have sworn the hallways had grown by tenfold. Of course, this did give him plenty of time to churn over and review Phil Davis. He knew Hermione was smart, and she seemed to like him well enough. She didn't do that often anymore, which means she must have had a good reason. He just didn't know what the reason was.

Locked once more in thought, the tiny sound that wafted to his ears was nearly lost. Nearly, because aurors were made to notice things that shouldn't be noticed. This sound was a tiny, whisper of a crackle. It was coming from directly below Harry.

Not for the first time, he decided that the anti-apparation wards were terrible. He knew, or should have known, that the crackle was nothing. But for some reason, Harry believed it was more. As an auror, or a quidditch player, you acted upon pure beliefs.

With that in mind, he raced towards the nearest staircase. Elevators were simply too crowded, even in a building that wan only three stories high. Heavy combat boots spelled to make no sound; he sprinted down the elegant marble staircase, arriving at the scene silently.

The scene that met his eyes was one of controlled panic. Thick, grimy grey smoke was pouring through the hall, obliterating the rooms at the far side from sight. Witches and wizards, all loped from within the cloud, gathering in the hallway. A few were casting any spell that came to mind, of water, or fire destruction; but it did little to the haze of silver. He glanced at the blank, shimmering walls, trying to identify exactly where he was. The blank walls indicated that, most likely, this was some branch of the Department of Mysteries. But if that were so, he should not have been able to enter. Unless, of course, someone had broken in through the wards, thus destroying them.

Another wizard emerged, dragging a scalded witch with him. The man was older looking, with graying hair and piercing blue eyes. "Squiggles, get a mediwizard immediately."

A young, pretty brunette nodded, calling out a, "Yes Sir!" before rushing up the stairs Harry had just come from.

Suddenly, an unexpected voice broke from the smoke. "I've got Joseph, Sir." A fire haired, ash covered Ginny Weasley appeared, a slender boy cradled in her arms. She dropped him lightly, falling to her knees beside the boy. Harry knew enough about Ginny to know that she had a minor degree in healing, and could most likely help with large scorch marks trailing the boy's sides.

"Good, Toad. Now, let's see..." He trailed off, whispering to himself, obviously counting heads. "Where's Spade?" The man barked, glancing urgently around. A series of pale faced glances traveled through the group. "Shit." He barked, glancing back into the smoke. "Someone send for an auror experienced with fire, or an Unspeakable. I don't care." The man drew up his sleeves, obviously planning to tackle the flames. "I'll take it till then."

"Excuse me, sir," all eyes turned towards Harry. Many flickered up, towards his scar. The only one whose attention was not focused on him was Ginny, caught up in her work on the boy. "I'll take it. Who's Spade?" Harry hurried forward professionally, flicking his wand as he walked. A brief incantation caused a series of numbers and letters to flow from the tip, an auror's identification.

The man looked slightly surprised, but nodded his approval of the codes. "Spade; he's tall, blonde, missing both eyebrows and the left pinkie. He's a bit overweight, probably in the back room." There was a hush, brief and strained, "think you can find him?"

"It's done," Harry replied, trying to sound confident. Whispering a spell, he cast fire protection and smoke charms over himself. His clothes were already spelled, but it couldn't hurt to strengthen them.

Now in auror mode, Harry stalked cautiously into the smoke. At once, he slowed his breathing, making it easier to maintain the spell. Bright emerald orbs scanned through the dense particles of ash, hunting for movement. He soon found a door, entering with slow precision.

Flames flickered in the far corner of the room, but not close enough for Harry to be bothered. He didn't have the time to both destroy the fire and find Spade. Just as he had no time to wonder what branch of the Department of Mysteries Ginny worked in. Continuing stealthily, he prowled towards another barely visible door.

The next room blazed with heat, fire encompassing much of it. "Flenderall," Harry murmured, tossing the 'fire wall' into place, where it would block the flames from coming closer. However, it would not hold for more than seven minutes. Fire had never been Harry's strong point, something he was regretting.

He continued on this way, casting fire walls, for three more rooms. It was from the fourth room that the fury of flames was incredible, just as he had no doubt that Spade was in the room. He blasted the door away, following it immediately with a spell to cast torrents of water upon the licking blue white tongues. A third spell shot from his wand, another version of the fire wall. It pressed the flames back, thought the fire was strong enough that Harry had to fight for the yards that he gained. 

And suddenly, he was sliding over a limp, holed glass bowl. The spell was weak, but it was existent. The man within was close to six foot five, and Harry could see the missing pinky. However, he possessed little hair now, and the flames that had made their way through the shield now licked hungrily at his body.

Harry hurried forward, dragging the man to his feet. Spade was gasping for breath, covered in burns. He wasn't at all sure that the man could even walk. Looping and arm under Spade's shoulder, he began to half drag him back to the main hallway. The man beside him struggled, attempting to help, but Harry could hear the pain in his gasps. Laborious breathing came from the smoke, but he didn't have time to cast the necessary spells. Soon, his spells would crumble, and they would be trapped.

The first room they traveled through well enough. The second was difficult, an excursion of in which Spade promptly passed out. Shooting the most powerful anti-fire spell he could invoke, he placed upon the fallen man. With little power left, considering the circumstances, the young auror dragged the man to his feet. Muscles screaming from his weight, Harry continued into the next room. 

Halfway across, his fire wall broke.

Flames seared throughout the room, unleashing their disastrous fury. Flames seared over him, and Harry managed, by sheer, wandless willpower, in order to maintain his wards. Struggling and unable to breath, adrenaline drew him through the waiting door. He practically threw himself from the next room into the hallway, hurrying forward as fast as was possibly with a several hundred pound man in his arms.

When they finally emerged from the smoke, Harry lowered the man to the ground and began a series of retching coughs. A wizard marked with a healing badge came forward, setting to work on Spade. Ginny appeared at his side, whispered a spell, and he felt his coughing slow.

Hands bent on his knees, he cast a look up, ebony bangs falling over to shade his eyes. The mediwizard stepped back, a look of intense sorrow on his face. "I'm sorry," were the soft words that fell upon the gathered crowd.

There was a breath of complete, absolute silence. Then, the hiccup of a small sob was heard somewhere in the midst of the crowd. Another slow, careful tear followed, and Harry bent his head.

He had forgotten that in every job, there was a chance of death.

~*~

So…?


	12. Chapter XI: A Collection of Comfort

Disclaimer: Well, its not mine, though admittedly the plot is. And Phil is! So there! I own Philian Davis, though half shares go to phantom. Grr.

This is… Well… You'll see how it is. I love it, but will you? (Excuse all my spelling errors, it was late.)

~*~

There were times, when Harry wished more than anything else in the world that he was not himself. This was one of those times. Guilt was swamping him in powerful currents, the voices in his head taunting. He should have been faster, or should have practiced the flenderall more often. He could have been here earlier, or taken less time asking about the man. There were dozens of ways in which Harry could blame himself.

He hardly noted the deep, sorrowful brown eyes that were focused on him, or the way that the matching pair of eyebrows were drawn down in some version of anxiety. Harry didn't notice, caught up as he was. Not a tear fell from, for Harry hadn't cried since... Well, since Hermione had found him visiting Ron. Not to mention the fact that he had been drunk at that point in time. The lack of liquid on his face made him stick out. Only 'Sir', Ginny, and the mediwizard were not crying. 

Drawing himself slowly back to the present, thrusting aside the grief and guilt, Harry finally heard the calls of spells. Water spells, fire extinguishing spells, and various fire walls were being called in the rooms in the back, heard through the open doors. He considered going in to help, but the use of powerful wandless magic in one of his weaker fields had sapped a deal of his strength. Harry expected that he would only get in the way.

Sighing, he ruffled his hair, ignoring the particles of ash that coated the ebony. The wait for the firefighters to return seemed endless, as Harry stood staring silently at the floor. The only time that his gaze shifted was when a black robed wizard came to collect Spade, Harry watched as the white sheeted figure disappeared from view.

When the fire had finally died, the four men, and one woman, who had been battling it returned. Harry was unsurprised to find that he recognized none of them; this was the Department of Mysteries. However, he was more surprised when one barely battered man approached. "Mr. H. Potter, I presume?" 

Harry wondered why they even bothered to ask. He was the only one in the bloody mob to have a scar still prominent upon his forehead. "Yes, can I help you sir?" He responded calmly, voice taking on typical auror tone--none.

The man gave a slight nod, not bothering to offer a hand. Common courtesies weren't needed. "Can I see your I.D. codes?" he asked, clearly expectant.

Harry obliged, the series of letters and numbers emerging from the tip of his wand for the second time today. Weary and unfocused as Harry may have been, the codes still flowed with brilliant ease. The Unspeakable nodded, satisfied with the spell.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. My name is Scope; I need to run a full background check on you." Harry was not at all shocked with the request. A man had just been killed while Harry was attempting to save him; a background check had to be run to be sure that he was really The Boy Who Lived, and not a clever impersonator. "Toad will look after that, I'm sure." The Unspeakable raised an eyebrow as he turned towards Ginny, smirk crossing his handsome features.

If Ginny paid any attention to the slightly too inviting smirk, she made no show of it. Instead, her head dipped in a clipped nod, eyes out of focus. "C'mon, Potter." She beckoned him to follow her, and he obliged.

~*~

Hermione didn't know why it was, but she was having the most unsettling feelings about Phil. Within the past hour, since Harry had mentioned it, she couldn't help but note that he stayed firmly clear of any hint of his personal life. They discussed history and current affairs, but never a breath or Ireland, his family, or his work ever escaped the man's lips. It was certainly curious.

As they were heading back to her office, conversation dwindled. Hermione took the opportunity to find out if Phil would tell her anything; outside of his political views, of course. "So," she began slowly, drawing out the o.

"Don't tell me," Phil stated, turning his head to grin at her, "You want to know if Potter's right, aye?" His grin widened when she blinked, momentarily dragged out of her 'subtlety'. After a pause, Hermione nodded. She offered no explanation. "He's got a good eye, and a sound reputation. But to tell you the truth, I don't think this had anything to do with... well, how fast I draw my wand or dangerous my aim is."

Hermione wasn't expecting him to stop, so it was several moments before she realized that he wanted some sort of reaction. Looking away from his friendly, cheerful eyes, she considered her words carefully. She had the lurking feeling that whatever Phil said next would not be to her liking, or that it would really stay on the current topic. It was a time when she needed Ron, to either answer bluntly or use a masterminded chess move to get a direct answer. He had always been better at chess. Thrusting aside the mental image of Ron's injured form, laying by a giant chessboard in first year, she tried the direct approach. "Then what, exactly, do you think is creating Harry's dislike of you?"

"I think he's jealous."

The answer surprised her, and she answer without a breath of thought, turning to focus brown eyes on his face once more. "Jealous of what?"

Phil tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes, meeting her gaze. The grin was gone, his expression solemn and slightly curious, almost as if hunting for a secret. "Well, you, I would think. I mean you are quite... quite beautiful, and intelligent, and--"

He was cut off as Hermione bust into a fit of laughter. She stopped walking completely, tears soon streaming from her face. "Me and Harry! Me and Harry! Oh my gosh--" another stream of giggles erupted. He stopped beside her, both eyebrows raised and a mildly baffled glint claiming his eyes. When Hermione finally managed to control herself, she had a hand to her stomach from laughing so hard. Swiping away tears, she answered with a broad smile. "I'm sorry Phil; the idea was just so funny! I know it's been suggested before, but not since... Oh, I don't know, our fourth year? Then you just said that, and I couldn't help it. I mean, really, I love Harry like a brother, but the idea of dating him disgusts me. It always has."

"Maybe he thinks otherwise." Phil suggested, still a bit put out by her obvious belief that he was a bit on the slow side for his suggesting the two of them together.

"Harry? Really, Phil, he has other things on his mind. Harry hasn't dated since he became an auror, right after seventh year. Believe me, there is no chance of Harry liking me." She giggled again, covering her mouth in an attempt to stop the fits of laughter. "We're siblings, or as close to it as you can get without blood."

He sighed, and ran a hand over his chin as if thinking. "So then, Hermione, is not Harry Potter, then who do you fancy?"

"No one," she stated automatically, remembering only too late of the picture on her desk. "That is, no one who's reachable."

Was that hope in his eyes? Hermione wondered, watching as his face resumed the calm expression. The blank mask settled coolly on to his features, and he gave her a small smile and a nod. "Well, I think this is where I leave you." 

They had stopped before the plain door, tiny gold lettering proclaiming it as Hermione Granger's office. She smiled, resting her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, well, thanks for the laugh." The corners of her lips twitched, suppressing another chuckle. "And I'm sorry I didn't get around to translating. You could come by tomorrow, around ten? It shouldn't take me very long, Threstian's one of my favorite languages."

He smiled slowly, nodding in reply. "That'd be a good time for me, though I'll be disappointed if it only takes a bit."

Hermione was about to ask him why, when his face descended, brushing a quick kiss on her lips. "Goodbye, Hermione." Philian said quickly, stalking calmly back towards the main part of the Ministry, apparently unperturbed by the sign of affection.

She gaped after him, pushing the door to her office slowly opened. What the _hell_ was that? Hermione wondered, too caught up in confusion to remember that she still knew nothing of Philian Davis's past, present, or future. 

~*~

Ginny led the way into a small, nearly empty office, Harry following dejectedly behind her. After shutting the door behind him, Ginny took a seat in one of the two lonely chairs. "Sit down, Harry." She commanded gently, watching him with worried eyes.

Harry sat slowly, clutching the arm rails of the chair until his knuckles grew white. Ginny sat in silence for some time, contemplating how best to go around this. Harry was staring at the ground, dark hair falling to mask what little of his face she might have seen. She kept her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she studied his, her mind drifting semiconsciously to thoughts of Spade's death.

He had always been a kind man, jovial and well spoken. However, Ginny had never thought that he was quite the man for the job. Their department was reclusive, normally of the quiet, sympathetic bunch. Spade had always simply been too... happy. But for him to be dead. It was such a strange feeling, to know he would never again enter the office with his broad grin, asking about this and that. The feeling of loss, of despair, was one Ginny knew all to well. The harshness of it came from the fact that someone she knew hadn't died in nearly two years. That was the longest period of time since her third year at Hogwarts that she'd gone without the pain of dying. It was utter anguish to feel it again. She could only imagine how Harry must be doing, though she doubted it had been two years since he lost someone.

Thoughts drawn back to Harry, she disrupted the still silence with a soft tone. "Harry, I have to I.D. you." She didn't even know why she said it. Ginny was sure, absolutely positive that it was Harry before. But she doubted that her superiors would believe that, Harry and she weren't listed for having such a bond. They didn't have that bond at all. 

He nodded, without looking at her, gaze focused firmly on the toes of his combat boots. Ginny sat back, deciding to attempt lightness. "Alright then, Harry. Tell me... who's favorite phrase is 'hem, hem'." She mimicked so like she had done back in the days of the DA.

Harry looked up, the tiniest smile on his lips. "C'mon, Ginny, everyone knows that's the old toad. Give me a hard one."

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter, but my code name is Toad. Is there something wrong with that? And don't call me Ginny, ministry requirements demand that I go strictly by Toad." She scrunched her nose a bit, "blasted ministry and their demented rules."

His smile grew, some of the sorrow leaving his emerald eyes. "Alright then, Toad, give me one only you and I would know."

Ginny sat back, relishing the question. There were so many things he could pick, from humorous to embarrassing to absolutely dangerous; each one as exciting as the next. "What did you give me for my sixteenth birthday, excluding those atrocious dress robes?" She shuddered, playing up the scene.

"Matching socks, of course." He stated with a real grin, as if laughing at the memory. He had forgotten to give her the socks with the robes, and had promptly proceeded to bring them to her at two o'clock in the morning. He had also spent four hours staring at her while she slept, before his crashing into her robes had awoken the exhausted redhead.

The pause that followed his words was a comfortable one, tinted with remembrance of a humorous night. Harry considered something after a moment, bringing a slight tilt to his head. "Why are you called Toad?"

Ginny laughed, having wondered when he would reach that point. When Harry responded with a lopsided grin and a quizzical expression, she explained further. "Well, I think it comes from the one piece of poetry ever written by me."

Harry frowned in concentration, and then laughed himself. When the chuckles in the room subsided, Harry, grinning mischievously, spoke. "Well, I always thought my children would be named after me; but you'll do well enough."

Ginny smiled widely, and for a moment their eyes caught, and held. In a moment of pure bliss, she found herself searching in a pool of glittering green light. A rush of warmth joined the emotion, until clouds of ebony suddenly darkened, with flashes of green light that so eerily resembled the gleam of a killing spell.

She shut her eyes tightly, gathering a breath. She didn't notice as Harry suddenly ducked his head, running a nervous hand through his hair. By the time her eyes opened, memories put aside, he was staring at the wall behind her.

"Ginny," Harry began, and she didn't bother to correct him, "the fire was set, wasn't it?"

She nodded, slowly, drawing her thoughts back to the fire. "Yes, a series of muggle bombs got in. Nobody recognized them, or at least none of our security. They were spelled, too. It wasn't until they showed them to me... Well, dad knew read about them and all, and I'm normally in charge of the muggle objects. Spade thought it was magical, so I didn't see until it was on his desk. And then they exploded... Like they were waiting for me or something." It was odd, once she thought about it. They had exploded, the moment she glanced at them. Luckily, she had been in the office opposite, and had seen them through the open door.

Harry moaned, putting his head in his hands. The faint sound of curses reached her ears, and she watched him with curiosity. He seemed to be blaming himself for not being there, something she didn't understand. "Harry, it wasn't your fault. There was nothing more you could have done..."

"Damn it, Ginny, there was! It was my job to get him out of there, and I failed! He wouldn't have died if there had been someone better going in, or if I hadn't... And what if you would have died?" He looked up at her, and Ginny was shocked to find the tears that were held back in his eyes. "You were there, right there. What if it had been you? I couldn't have lived with that, Ginny. The thought of it... Dear God." The next words he spoke were so soft, Ginny didn't pick them up. Most people would never have heard the nearly inaudible whisper of, "I can't live without you, Ginny."

Even without such words, Ginny was suddenly overcome with a sad form of content. Standing, she walked to Harry, enveloping him in a warm hug. "Hush, Harry. I didn't die, I'm still right here. It wasn't your fault. Don't worry, I'm still here." Harry, almost tentatively, crept his arms around her. She felt his face bury into her shoulder, the quiet sorrow of the embrace causing tears to leak from her own eyes. The numbness vanishing, she clung to him as her own quiet sobs began.

Eventually, Harry stopped crying and drew Ginny onto his lap, where she could sit more comfortably. The youngest Weasley leaned against him, sitting sideways as her face turned slightly into his chest. Strong arms were wrapped around her, holding her close in competent gentleness. In the normal way of things, she never would have let herself come into such a situation; but the pain seemed especially strong today. 

For nearly an hour, Ginny Weasley sat wrapped in Harry Potter's arms, until she finally feel into a light, easy sleep; feeling safe for the first time in years.

~*~

Wow. I never intended for this to be a doubly fluffy chapter. Stupid characters and their ideas, wanting to go all romancey on me. Not that I mind, I love sweet chapters. And I'm certainly not going to let them off this easy. At least, the H/G action is definetly not going to suddenly blossom, indeed, I think its going to be sort of… forgotten. But that's for next chapter, aye? What did you think about this one? Oh, and I got 8 reviews last chapter. That was a record for me, but I want nine for this chapter if you expect a new chapter within a week. Otherwise I may just take two.


	13. Chapter XII: Seven Shades

Alright, I'm sorry this took so long. I hit rock bottom, and lacked inspiration completely. I failed you, I know. Don't hate me! And I have a warning for this chapter. It is DIFFERENT. It's so utterly unusual that I don't know where it came from. It you don't like it, skip ahead, and just read the lat section. It's from eight points of view, and they're all thoughts. Not dreams, I don't write dreams.

~*~

Cold... Grey... Warm... Whisper... Grey... Blank... Nothing... Empty... White... Grey... Gone... No... Trapped... Grey... Wall... Cold... Blank... Where... None... Grey... Haze... Lost... Stuck... Cage... Mind... Empty... Thoughts... Gone... Heart... Stone... Grey... Where.. Nothing... Bright... White... TRAPPED...! __

Need Hermione.__

~*~

Warmth, a calm blessing, wrapped around her. The breeze fluttered through her hair, locks of rose flying over her eyes. She could feel herself spinning swiftly, a whirl of pictures sweeping tenderly around her. A glimpse here, a flutter of an image there. Green eyes pierced her, fading into a high, chill laughter. There was a storm, and she sat outside her window as glorious golden lightning danced across the sky; a song played gently in the distance, one of her favorites, Jaded by Mest. The tune reached her ears, and those visions blurred and combined. The first verse hung on the wind, carried by the storm. The lightning from the storm reached down and held, a glossy image of emerald eyes hanging just below it. Then, suddenly, the laughter began, chilling her to the bone. There was a crack, a split of thunder, and the cackle died. It left only comfort, images of green rain, whispers of sweet songs filtering to her ears. She was... happy.

~*~

The fire burned him. It coursed through his veins, crying out in fury as it unleashed wave after wave of torment. He couldn't stand it any longer, as it thrust itself into every crack of his body. He was crumbling from the inside out, pierced with a seemingly unending flame. The torture was terrible, but he wouldn't scream. There was nothing he could do, left helpless to himself. Nobody was there, no one to help. It was impossible. But he couldn't fight it. Oh, the pain! __

And it ended. In an instant, every fiber of fire dissipated, leaving only a cool sense of belonging. Someone was there. Someone had come. It was gone. The ache, the blaze, it was beaten away. Because someone had come. Ginny had come... She was helping... She was there... He wasn't alone...__

~*~

Two ghosts were there. Not ghosts, exactly, but a spirit. Elements, figures there but lost. One hung to her left, so far away that she could barely sense him. But it was there, the feeling of being free and independent, a fierce love of challenge and a loyalty unchallenged. But there was also recklessness, a hot temper, and he was so far away...__

Not like the other. He was close, mere inches away. If she moved, it wouldn't take her more than two steps to reach him. Intelligence lingered to the left, mingling with sensitivity and hidden love of danger. Vague clouds of unknowing halted her, barriers of ignorance sending her away. __

One far away, one so close. Her, trapped in between. Trapped, trapped in the hive of uncertainty, of questions unanswered and impossibilities. No where to go, and everywhere to walk.__

~*~

Distrust was his strength. Mystery, danger, hunting, they lurked in his presence. Malevolence encompassed him, but the lining of his cage was one of complete respect. He was good at it, at ignoring the spite and anger. It fueled from those with ambition, from those with the experience and power. He had that, the wit and the grace, the charm and the act; he could play the role with perfection. Nothing was wrong.__

Then she came. Glorious, chocolate and kindness. Intelligence, cunning, wisdom, it leaked out of her every pore. The aura was a strong one, complete with a full maturity that seemed yet unended. She was wonderful. Amazing. Perfection in every detail.__

But not his. Her mind was torn. His mind was torn. Her heart leagues away, a multitude of technicolor. His was black and white, artistically arrayed with grey, and suddenly longing for the color in hers. For the brightness, the intense tranquility, to be in his life. But he couldn't reach, not yet.__

Distrust was his downfall, and the barrier snapped.__

~*~

She reeked of darkness. Havoc was her home, the unpredictable chaos around her completely familiar. Her strides echoed on the hall, disrupting the attempted peace that threatened her pandemonium. Who were they to end her fun? Why destroy action, was it not the core of life? Thriving for the kill, battling the foe, facing the demon. It was an adventure, an expedition of everlasting excitement and thrill. Volcanoes of fury erupted where she walked, heaving masses of coal black spite and reverence. The fray raged, and she twisted it, manipulating the figures in her world. She ensured demolition, piece after piece of happiness washed away with her lava of darkness. No one could stand in her way. No one was ready. No one was strong.

~*~

Ice cool barriers, frozen with the malice of an ancient past. Not so many years, perhaps, but a long history. The tale told and retold itself, unfolding to become the magnitude of arctic regions that he dwelled within. Not only was he within it, but it was within him. I rolled and ravaged, seeking nothing more than to quench the fires that sprang unnecessarily from the beacon of his emotions. No one entered. No one left.__

But they were melting. Oh, how he longed for them to be gone. For it suddenly, to all end. And the spark began. A tiny flame, not large enough to light a cigar. But it was growing, of, with the passion of one who has all and suddenly desires everything. It spread, devoured, ripped apart the snowflakes of his being. He was melting, sinking, drawing away from himself. And it felt wonderful.__

~*~

He frowned into the pool, watching the webbing tangle of thoughts that ebbed from these seven. The colors; orange, red, green, gold, silver, black, white; they washed and turned within the small holding of water. They meshed and split, as the wizened wizard looked on. Frowning in concentration, the old wizard cast a hand over the fibers, slowing their writhing progress. 

A concentrated gaze clouded his pale blue eyes, ancient eyes that were set beneath ivory brows. They would be difficult, more difficult than the last. And this time, there was no help. With the destroying of his last seven, the new had come to power, and his own presence had been washed from the earth. Circe curse him, that agreement should never have been raised. Now, they were left unfit and untrained, each walking the earth with a power coursing so strong that it would be unbearable to all others.

His finger settled on the first thread that began in the high left corner. It was orange, a blaze of passion and temperament, of all things that brought forth the spirit of fun and enjoyment. But they were cursed, those of the orange. Walls were determined to trap those figures within. With his last, it had been Azkaban; now it was the whitewashed walls of insanity. He traced its pathway into the epicenter. First, orange met red, running alongside in a bond of siblinghood. Next, it struck emerald, and left its side little through the rest of its path. With gold orange was wary, sometimes closer than all others, and sometimes ages away. White and orange seared against each other, tangling in a mass of hated knots. Black came several years into it's life, its knots more complicated, without youthful naivety. It was black that held a tightened grip on it, a grip that prevented orange from meeting silver, which it had seen once before. Orange was straightforward, it's path direct, but at the moment it drifted lazily in circles, with nowhere to go.

~*~

I told you it was weird. Did you believe me? Personally, I love it. It's my favorite yet. But I think that's 'cause so much of it is me. I'm bad for doing that, but I had to. I had fun writing this, though I won't do it again for a while. I can't tell you when to expect the next chapter, because my inspiration is lacking one moment and bursting the next. This entire chapter took me less than two hours, normally they take me days. So, tell me what you think. Oh, and I'm gonna start replying to reviewers, 'cause Savvy said I should.

**AA ****Battery: I'm sorry that it took me so long to update, and that this chapter had no fluff. Forgive me?**

**Lourdes: Keep hoping. It may take a while. I hate rushing into things.**

**Savvy**: How can I possibly reply to your whole review? It's so fascinatingly long, and makes me feel brilliant. I'm afraid you might think I'm weird now, because you seemed to love my other chapters, and this one is so different. I hope you like it though, because… I dunno, because it makes me feel so good to open up my mail and find that you left me a multiple paragraph review. Good or bad, I just want one! And thank you!

**To Everyone Else**: I'm sorry that I can't reply to you all individually, but I'd feel repetive. So, thank you for your reviews, I'm sorry that I took so long, and I'm happy that you like my story!


	14. Chapter XIII: A Mix of Many

Hey people. I need to apologize for taking so long to update, I wish I hadn't. I've just been struggling to keep my sanity lately--and my focus. It's been a rough few weeks.  If this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. I just want to be able to give you something.

~*~

Ginny woke slowly, her surroundings rather befuddling. She glanced around, eyes still clouded with sleep. Two comforting, muscled arms were wrapped gently around her, and she was sitting on someone lap.

It came back to her in a rush.

At once, Ginny groaned softly. She hadn't meant to become anything more than friendly acquaintances with Harry, and now she had listened as he poured out his heart out to her before she had fallen asleep in his arms. "Damn it," she muttered darkly, her mind churning over the possibilities. There had to be some way to block this issue from getting raised again, because the awkwardness the situation of 'talking of it out' would simply be aggravating. There had to be some way to make Harry forget.

"Think, think, think," she whispered, slowly easing his arms away from her, trying to ignore the sense of loss she felt without them. Sliding of his lap, she faced the sleeping Harry. His eyes were closed, sheltering the fierce green from the world. His hair was tousled, though that was nothing new. Ash clung to his robes, and the edges of his simple garments appeared scorched. There was a steady rise and fall of breath from his well muscled chest, echoing out lips that were curved in a content smile. It wasn't fair of him to look so cute and vulnerable when sleeping, Harry wasn't supposed to be cute and vulnerable. At all. Ever.

"Damn him," she muttered again, brushing a lock of hair behind her ears while she toyed idly with her wand in the other hand. Something to make him forget... Oh, she was an idiot. A simple memory charm and he wouldn't remember anything beyond entering her office. It would be easy to tell her superiors that it was so there was no need to reveal any classified secrets. Harry would never remember, and she would never have to face him about the situation.

Of course, she had never been too good with memory charms. They tended to go awry, and occasionally the person would recall brief flashes of what they were supposed to have forgotten. But then, how hard would it be to erase a few hours of time? Well, twelve hours, considering the fact that it was approximately 6:00 a.m.

She pointed the wand at his calmly sleeping form, and spoke softly, "Oblivate." Ginny focused on the moment in which they had first entered the room, then switching her attention to now. He would, hopefully, forget everything within that time period. She could only pray that it had worked correctly.

She sighed as she watched him sleep, lips pulled into a sorrowful smile.  "I'm sorry Harry, but we're not meant to be like this," Ginny murmured.  Taking a step forward, she allowed her fingers to gently brush back a lock of raven black hair, feeling her stomach flop uncomfortably.  Uneasy of her reaction, she turned swiftly away, closing the door softly on Harry Potter, and a hazy future.

~*~

Hermione strolled down the corridor for the second time that week, mulling over recent events. She had spent the morning with Phil, giggling and grinning as they translated a hefty portion of his Threstral text. It hadn't taken long, no more than two hours, but Hermione had enjoyed it immensely. Phil was simply so easing to talk to, as if the words flowed without conscious thought. They fit together, as if their minds were somehow interconnected.

But, to Hermione's great confusion, the best and worst part of the day had been his exit. He had left with nothing more than a shy smile and the brush of his lips over her cheek. Somehow, this managed to leave her both disappointed and grateful. Damn those emotions.

Then the guilt had come. Torrents of guilt, that made her feel like the most rotten person in the world. Ron hadn't remained in the picture, instead she had returned to her desk to find him gone. It had been a small shock, and a reminder. What about Ron?

What about Ron? She asked herself silently. There had never been anything between them, nothing but Hermione's timid fantasies. They were two of a trio, like siblings. She was like a sister to him, as some old quotes would say, "One close as bone," considering the fact that they could never be blood siblings.

But if that was true, if she and Ron were like siblings, why in Merlin's name was she being punished with the onslaught of guilt? Hermione shook her head lightly, casting the thought aside. She shifted the bookbag that was slung over her shoulder, evening its weight. Whitewashed walls surrounded her once more, recalling to mind this task.

She entered the small, simple room, feeling the tears prick in the back of her eyes. Ron stood motionless, no more than three feet from the place she had left him only the day before. Was it only yesterday? It seems like years ago. Hermione thought, sighing softly.

"Hey Ron," she whispered into the empty air, allowing her bag to flop lightly on the tiled floor. "I just came for a bit of a visit, and to work on this next line. I swear I know the language, but it's bloody confusing. Doesn't seem that old though, which is good; if I have to look up anymore archaic Egyptian runes I'll scream. Did you have any idea how many languages the Egyptian wizards went through? Merlin's beard--" Hermione's talk continued as she lowered herself to lean against the wall, smiling slightly as she rattled off to facts to someone who couldn't understand her; though within the back of his mind Ron could feel the comforting tone of her speech.

~*~

Harry awoke alone in a small, dark office, with absolutely no idea as to how he'd gotten there. Standing, he ran a hand through his mess of already tangled hair, bewildered. Having awoken from the strangest dream, one in which Ginny fell asleep on his lap, he was now rather disoriented. He glanced at the clock, only to find it proudly declaring that it was half past seven. "Damn it, what did I do?" He asked himself, with a small mount of incredulity.

Exiting the room, he was even more befuddled as he realized that he had never been there before. Feeling more lost with every step that he took; Harry wandered aimlessly down an eerily silent hall. It was, of course, his luck that he ran straight into the scene of the fire.

Oh yeah, I was getting people killed. Harry degraded himself silently, fists clenching subconsciously. Blinking, rather hard, he tried to shove the image of a dead man from his mind, retreating from the scene up the small staircase. 

Once on the main level, Harry continued to stroll, head ducked in focused thought. So lost in his pondering was Harry that he ran smack dab into someone, finding himself be thrown back a few steps against a wall, as whoever he had run into had obviously been in a hurry.  "Sor—," Harry began, before realizing just who he had slammed into.

Cool, silver eyes glinted back at him, lips drawn in a customary scowl. "Out of my way, Potter," Draco sneered, shoving Harry into the wall as he stormed down the hallway. Harry's only reaction was a disgruntled, exhausted glare shot at the back of Malfoy's head.

"Bastard," Harry muttered, rubbing a sore portion of his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter," a dark, heavy voice spoke from behind him, "just the person I've been looking for, unfortunately."

Emerald eyes suddenly sparked with quickly contained fury, his tone sarcastic when he chose to spoke.  "A pleasure to see you, too, Snape."

~*~

Malfoy glared with bitter distaste at the walls.  As if his day hadn't been awful enough, he just _had_ to run into that Potter.  Scum of the earth, he didn't _deserve_ the honor of being run into.  Curse him, bloody arrogant fool.

Draco swung suddenly around a corner, to catch a glimpse of a swiftly retreating redhead.  Mood suddenly uplifted, Draco steps swiftened as he trailed the little redhead.  He walked with no sound, and it was quite easy to suddenly wrap an arm around her waist before leaning down to whisper in her ear.  "What have we here?  Why, if it isn't the lovely Miss Weasley."

"I thought I told you to leave me alone, Malfoy."  She snapped back, yanking herself forcefully out of his hold.  "Stop following me."

"I wasn't following you, dear Ginny."  He explained, falling into step beside her as she took up her quick pace once more.  "I was merely on the premises, and happened to be drawn to your undeniable beauty."

She flinched as his long, lithe fingers ran lightly over her hair, taking another step away.  "Yes, well unfortunately for you Malfoy, I happen to be busy."

"Oh really, my dear.  With what?  Anything I can… assist you with?"  He smirked as Ginny turned her smoldering brown eyes up to glare at him with impeccable fury.

 "No."  She turned promptly into another hallway, one he recognized as the Auror's department.

"Ah, well, perhaps I'll be lucky enough to run into you later."  Draco had no desire to enter that hallway, he had been in those rooms before, and had never felt very comfortable surrounded by the 'good guys'.

Ginny shook her head lightly, against meeting up with him later, but abandoned her cruel comeback to turn and start towards the end of the hall.  It was not long till she reached the office of Alastor Moody, though it was nearly double that time before she gained the courage to knock.  Moody's voice called from within, hasty but gruff, "Come in."

She pushed the door open, entering his strictly neat, if rather unordinary, office.   The Dark Detectors and various other instruments hanging on the walls were unsettling, and some of them were downright frightening.  "Ah, Miss Weasley," Mood said from where he sat at his desk, looking up from a report, "what do you need?"

She closed the door softly behind her, before taking a seat perched on the end of one of his chairs.  "Well, Moody, I was kind of… That is to say…"  She fumbled for her words, already knowing the answer to her question, but wanting to have it confirmed nonetheless.

"You'd like to know if Potter is still an auror," Moody said, quite directly.  Ginny only nodded, causing a small frown to cross Alastor's face.  "Yes, Miss Weasley, he is."

"Do you know why he told me he wasn't?"  She asked, gathering the courage she had not known she would need to ask such a question.

Moody sighed, placing the report down before turning his electric blue eye on her, that had been wandering the back of his head.  "He was assigned to you, Miss Weasley.  Potter is there for your protection, and he will continue to do so.  There will be no argument."

Any other person would have nodded, shrinking away from the vigilance and command in Moody's spirit.  However, Ginny Weasley was bound to be extraordinary.  "There bloody well _will be an argument!  I don't need a body guard, least of all __Potter."  She cried angrily, struggling to keep the hate in her voice, and having his name emerge more as confusion._

"I'm sorry Miss Weasley, but there will be no changes.  You will be needed, hopefully soon, in order to perform some task of magic.  You _must_ be kept safe."

"I don't want to perform some bloody random act of ma—"

Ginny was cut off my Moody, "Miss Weasley, this is very important.  It could not only help the wizarding world, but it could save your brother."

Her face paled immediately, shocked by the completely honest way in which he spoke.  Thoughts were suddenly spinning at an alarming rate through her head.  She blinked, attempting to force the world to sit straight once more, but it continued to swim out of focus.  "You mean… Ron…"

The door burst open, and a Hermione flushed with happiness entered the room. "It's _Harry, Moody!  He's the second key, it's _Harry_!"_

~*~

The grey beard wizard smiled as he studied the next band of color; red.  Only this was no ordinary red, it was a crimson of the fiercest and purest love and hate, passion and despair.  Always an interesting color, its new bearer was no different.  The course of this one was complicated, also.  Nearly the moment it had emerged, the flow of color greeted orange as its relative.  From there, it was many years until it stumbled upon the next, but all in rapid secession.  First, emerald, to be followed by gold and silver; for a year, the strand had run a path as close to emerald as it could manage.  The following years it had been more separate, from all of them, before it began to interlope, on occasion, into the bond that was formed between green, gold, and orange.  Silver was marred with it occasionally, forming delicate knots.  Ebony it fought but once, and only for a split second of time, but the sorrow that began there was great.  Then, unshocking as it had happened so very many times, scarlet and emerald merged into a relationship stronger than all those around it.  It had split once, causing a great many knots in the string, but now the two were slowly sliding closer together.  

"Excellent," the wizard whispered, using a pale finger to cajole red gently towards its contrasting green.

~*~

Alright, that sucked, undoubtedly.  As I said before, I'm so sorry!!!  Next chapter, I hope will come sooner.  We do have Thanksgiving break, hopefully I'll have some time then.  I'm trying, I promise!  And next chapter, I promise it will be better.  Less broken up and stuff.  Thanks for not deserting me completely!


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